First Impressions
by gay.panic97
Summary: Emma is led into Storybrooke by a bounty rather than Henry. Her impressions of the cursed town are radically different, as are those of its mayor. Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

Emma Swan stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the seedy bar, smoothing out any wrinkles in the tight, red dress wrapped around her body. She hates dresses, always has, but she has to admit that this one looks good on her. Red has always been her color. The black pumps that she rarely ever drags out of the back of her closet add an extra few inches to her height and accentuate the defined muscles of her long, slender legs. Long blonde curls ripple down over her shoulders, framing her face nicely, and green eyes sparkle. While Emma has never really thought much of her looks, she can't deny that tonight she looks hot.

"What's going on, Emma?" Barry Kowalski's deep, raspy voice comes through the phone Emma holds to her ear as she surveys her reflection. A long exhale punctuates the question, and Emma can practically see him reclined in his leather chair, booted feet kicked up on his desk, chain-smoking cigarettes like lung cancer is little more than a myth. The older man is her boss, the owner of Barry's Bonds—a name she pokes fun at every time the opportunity arises—as well as the closest thing the blonde has ever had to a family. She started working for him when she was just twenty, and she'd been with him ever since. He was a grump and a cheapskate, but there was something of a camaraderie between the two. An understanding. They had no one else in the world, so they may as well be good to each other.

"I'm powdering my nose at the moment," Emma says sarcastically, and he snorts on the other end of the line. "I got here early to stake the place out, and I just saw him enter the bar. I'm about to go out there."

"You sure about this?" Barry's voice is gruffer than usual to hide his concern. "This guy ain't no petty thief. He's up for three counts of assault, and he's got some pretty violent tendencies. He's dangerous, Emma."

"Remind me, Barry," Emma says as she wipes a smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye. "What is the price on this guy's head?"

"Fifteen," he answers with a sigh.

"Alright then," she nods. "That's all I need to hear. I'll call you when I got him in cuffs."

"Hey, be careful," Barry throws out before she can hang up, and she smiles to herself.

"Are you worried about me, Barry Bonds?" she teases him.

He coughs. "Of course not. Just don't want to lose my best tracker." She grins. "Call me when you're done."

"Will do. Initiating Operation Money Bag," she says, and he sighs exasperatedly. "Swan out." Emma hangs up the phone and smirks to herself. Maybe it is just her childhood fantasies fueled by watching too many James Bond movies taking over, but she can never resist treating her jobs like secret missions fit with codenames and everything. Barry makes fun of her for it, calling her a geek, but it does nothing to discourage her. She basically gets paid to be a badass. Like hell she isn't going to milk that for all it's worth.

Emma gives herself one more satisfied look before turning and walking out of the bathroom. The bar, a roadside attraction on the way out of the city, is filled with all kinds of suspicious-looking characters, but Emma is able to blend in seamlessly with the environment. She weaves between bodies with a look of tough indifference and the swagger of someone who is not to be fucked with. A loud, high-energy metal song plays out.

Her target sits at the bar. He is thirty-seven-years-old, six-foot-three and two-hundred pounds of muscle mass. His brown hair is shaved close to his head, like some punk-rocker wannabe, and his blue eyes are lined with bags and dark rings. He hasn't shaved his face in a while, so there's a dirty stubble that makes Emma's nose wrinkle as she approaches him. She has always hated facial hair, especially that grubby kind. He's been on the run for four days now, and he definitely looks worse for the wear. He is dressed like a teenaged metalhead in a Metallica t-shirt, plaid button-up, baggy jeans, and combat boots. There is even a chain hanging from his pocket that almost makes Emma laugh. _This guy is a fucking caricature on two feet_ , she thinks to herself.

"Is this seat taken?" He looks up at her question and raises his eyebrows. His eyes roam up and down her body for a moment, taking her in slowly. It's clear to him, her, and everyone else there that she's about ten levels out of his league, but he's cocky. She knows that. She's counting on it.

"For a beautiful woman like you?" he says with a tug of a smile that she supposes is meant to be charming. "Of course not."

"Thanks," she smiles and sits down on the stool beside of him. The bartender comes by, and she orders a simple shot of whiskey. This doesn't exactly look like the type of place where they serve cocktails. "I'm Emma Swan."

He shakes her hand. "Mitch Grant." _Lie_. She doesn't need her built-in lie detector to know that he isn't telling her the truth. His name is Bradley Irving, and he's got a record as long as Emma's arm.

"Mitch," she repeats with a smile. It's her pretty-blonde-with-no-brains smile. The one that always reels in the pigs and scumbags. Which, in her line of work, is a big advantage.

"So, what brings you to a place like this alone?" Irving asks, but his eyes are trained on the generous amount of cleavage that is pushed up along the neckline of her dress. _Like taking candy from a baby_ , Emma thinks to herself.

"I actually came here looking for someone," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. The bartender brings her shot by, and she downs it without batting an eye. "He's in a little bit of trouble, and he owes me some money." Irving's eyes narrow, and he looks up at her face suspiciously. She smiles back. "Really, Bradley, I thought this was going to be harder. With a rap like yours, I expected much more of a fight. Thanks for being an easy fifteen grand." She retrieves the handcuffs from her clutch, and he draws back. "C'mon now. Don't make this difficult now."

His eyes shift up at her, and he screws his face up. "Fuck you!" He's on his feet in an instant, shoving through the crowd and heading for the door.

"Son of a bitch," she mumbles and starts in after him. She decides she's going to slam his head into her car door for making her run in heels. Accidentally, of course.

Emma follows Irving outside the bar, heels clattering against the pavement of the parking lot. The cold night air cuts through her thin dress, and she curses under her breath. This guy is going to pay for putting her through all that bullshit.

She catches up to Irving as he crosses the parking lot, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder hard. Her tight grip brings him to an abrupt stop, and she jerks him around to face her. Rearing back, she punches him dead in the nose. He yelps and covers his face as blood pours down his chin like a fountain.

"That's for making me run in these shoes," she growls at him. "Asshole." She goes to cuff him, but he surprises her with a quick recovery. Before she can blink, his fist collides hard with the side of her face. The salty tang of iron fills her mouth, and her cheekbone throbs and aches. Taking advantage of her shock, he sprints away again. She looks up just in time to see him leap into his clunky, bronze sedan and take off down the highway. Emma watches him go with narrowed eyes as she rubs her pulsing cheek. She can already feel the swelling.

"Fucker," she mutters and retrieves her cell phone from her clutch. Opening up the tracker app she installed years ago, it shows her a map. A blinking beacon, the bug she'd planted on the car earlier in the evening, shows that he's headed North on I-95. Maybe for Canada? No way is he getting across that border on her watch. Gripping the phone tightly, she marches over to her waiting yellow Volkswagen and throws herself inside. Starting the engine, she pulls out onto the highway and heads north as well, following the marker on her map with even more desire to catch this guy. Before, it was just business. Now, he'd made it personal.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been four hours straight. Emma hasn't stopped. She hasn't rested. She hasn't eaten. She hasn't even gone to the bathroom in that time. She's just driven, following along behind that blinking beacon on her phone. Her adrenaline initially kept her alert, but that has long ago faded away. Now, her eyelids are drooping, and her stomach is growling ravenously.

The sun has risen, and it's early morning. According to her map, Emma is somewhere in eastern Maine, along the coastline. The red dot blinks forward, only a matter of miles ahead of her. She knows she can catch him now if she wanted to. He doesn't know that she's onto him, and he's not going too fast. She could speed up and run him off the road. However, that would endanger the lives of innocent drivers that might happen to be on the road, and Emma won't do that. Not to mention, her Bug could get hurt in the scrap beyond repair, and that's a risk she's just not prepared to take.

Although, Emma admits that she can't remember the last time she saw another car on that road. They'd taken an exit off the interstate an hour or more back and had been driving down a two-lane road in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt ever since. All she has seen so far is forest. Forest. More forest. Oh, yeah, and forest. It is like a different world there. Everything is green and vibrant and foreign to her. She'd tried to keep note of her surroundings to keep herself awake and attentive, but after looking at what she is sure was just the same fucking tall-ass tree for the tenth time, she'd lost her patience. She just wants to catch Bradley Irving, take him back to Boston, and collect her fifteen thousand. She just wants to get back to her life. There is something weird about this place. A sense of dread builds inside of her. This strange feeling like she's getting closer and closer to a place where she might never leave. If there's one thing a childhood in the foster system taught her, it was to hate the feeling of entrapment

It happens in an instant. One second, she looks down and sees that blip on her phone screen just like always, cruising along at the same pace as before. Then, she turns her eyes back on the road. A few seconds later, she looks down, and the marker is gone. Green eyes widen, and her foot stomps down hard on the brake, stopping her in the middle of the road. She grabs the phone and refreshes the screen once, twice, three times. Still, nothing.

"What the fuck?" she snarls, throwing the phone down. Did he find the tracker and get rid of it? No, that didn't make sense. She had planted it under the bumper of the car. He wouldn't have been able to get to it without stopping the car and getting out, and the marker hadn't once stopped moving before. "Goddamn it."

Emma does the only thing that she can think to do in that situation. She keeps moving. No fucking way is she turning back now. Not after she's followed this guy for four hours straight into the middle of goddamn nowhere. He's not getting away from her now. No matter what it takes, she's more determined now than ever before to catch him.

Thirty minutes later, she sees the first sign of civilization since turning on that road. The green sign with white lettering stands like a beacon of life to her. She reads the words with a knit brow. _Entering Storybrooke_. She frowns to herself. _The fuck is a Storybrooke?_ Emma considers herself well-travelled, and she has seen most everything the country has to offer from the Pacific to the Atlantic, but never once has she heard of, even in passing, Storybrooke, Maine.

When she crosses into the town limits, she feels something odd. It's almost like a pulse. A chilling wave that passes over her, sending a shiver down her spine. She can't identify what makes her feel that way, but she knows immediately that she doesn't like this place wherever the fuck it is. _Just find Irving and get out of here_ , she thinks to herself as her fingers coil tighter around the steering wheel of her car. Her teeth are clenched tight, and her jaw is already beginning to ache from the tension.

It isn't long before Emma drives into what she assumes to be the heart of the town. A quaint, coastal town, Storybrooke looks a lot like a postcard. Plenty of small-town charm to go around. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone else, and you wave to your neighbors when you pass them on the street. The exact kind of place the blonde usually avoids at all costs. Emma's never been much for small towns. She likes her privacy—that's why she always lived in big cities. The isolation is her choice. Or at least that's what she has always told herself.

Heads turn at her car as it crawls into town. Emma admits that her Bug has never really been an inconspicuous vehicle. It's old, loud, and bright yellow. It has never really blended in anywhere, but this is ridiculous. The way those people look at her as she drives along, it's like they've never seen a strange car come through there. Which, Emma reasons, might not be too big of a stretch judging by how far out in the middle of nowhere this town is.

She decides to stop in because her head is swimming from exhaustion and hunger. There is a promising looking diner that she thinks will work. She'll get a bite, curl up in the back of her car, and catch up on some much-needed sleep. When she is refreshed, she'll continue her search for Irving. So, she turns into one of the parking spots in front of the diner and kills the engine.

When Emma stands, her legs are wobbly from sitting so long. She takes a moment to stretch them out, shaking the numbness away, and leans against the hood of the Bug a moment. It's chilly out, but the sun feels nice and warm on her skin. She is reminded that she's still dressed in her little red dress when a gust of wind blows, and she shivers. She is definitely going to have to invest in some more suitable clothes before she leaves this town. Her need for jeans is strong.

As Emma moves around the Bug, she catches the glimpse of something red in the back seat and stops. A crooked smile spreads across her face when she recognizes the flash of color, and she quickly retrieves it. Her fingers rub over the leather, rough from years and years of use, and she slips the jacket on over her shoulders. It is sort of like her trademark, that red leather jacket. One of the only things in the entire world, besides her Bug, that she considered really and truly _hers_.

Stepping inside the diner, she is immediately hit with the smell of greasy, fried food, and her stomach garbles like a whale. Her cheeks turn as crimson as her jacket as she rests her palm against her abdomen, as if that will quiet the organ.

"Hungry?" Emma looks up at the voice and finds herself swimming in a pair of intense gray eyes. They are already an incredible color, but highlighted by thick eyeliner and dark mascara, they crackle with energy like the sky right before a big storm. The young woman in front of her, not too much younger than Emma herself, has long, dark brown hair streaked with bright, fiery red, the shade matching that of her lipstick. She is tall and slim but has curves that would make most models envious. Her legs had to be at least ten feet long, Emma concludes. Her skin is pale and blemish-free, and her smile lights her entire face up. She wears what looks like to Emma a naughty school-girl Halloween costume. The plaid mini skirt barely even reaches her thighs, and the white button-up shirt is tied around her waist, exposing her midriff. Fishnet stockings cover her legs, and the high-heeled combat boots give her an extra inch or two. She reminds Emma of the "scene" girls she'd known in high school. Only this woman doesn't appear to be a totally pretentious bitch.

"Yeah," Emma nods her head, offering a smile of her own. The woman lights up like a lamp from the attention, and Emma swears she pushes her shoulders back to better expose her substantial cleavage. "Starved, actually."

"Well, you've come to the right place," she says. "Booth or bar?"

"Bar's fine," Emma answers and follows the waitress to the diner's front counter. She sits down on one of the stools, and the woman hands her a menu. "Thanks." She opens it up and browses a moment.

"I'm Ruby, by the way," the brunette offers with a flirtatious twirl of her hair, and Emma glances over at her. "Ruby Lucas."

"Nice to meet you, Ruby," Emma says. "I'm Emma Swan."

"You're new here, right?" Ruby asks, and the blonde nods. "We never get visitors here. Sometimes I think this town is on an island or something." She leans a hand on the counter, opening the neck of her shirt even wider. Emma raises her eyebrows before prying her eyes away and looking back at the menu in her hands. "So, where are you from?"

"Boston," she answers.

Ruby's eyes brighten even more, if that is even possible. "Wow. Boston. Big city. You like it there?"

Emma shrugs. "Eh. It's alright, I guess. Can't really complain." She puts the menu down, making her decision. "Can I just get a grilled cheese and fries? Oh, and coffee, too, please."

"Of course, coming right up," Ruby complies and rushes back to the kitchen to fill the order. Emma sighs into her hands, shoulders slumping as she closes her eyes. She doesn't realize how tired she is until she is sitting there with her eyes closed, enjoying the perks of central heating—which her Bug, of course, does not have. She feels herself begin to drift farther and farther...

"Hello there." The deep voice with its strong accent draws her back into consciousness, and she lifts her head from its perch in her hands. Looking to her side, she sees a man leaned against the bar. He is tall and fit with short, curly brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a closely-trimmed beard. He wears a brown bomber jacket over jeans and a blue button-up. Pinned to his chest almost comically is a shiny, gold Sheriff's badge.

Emma smirks and offers up one uncharitable syllable in response. "Hi."

"You're not from around here," he continues in that Irish lilt.

 _Thank you, Captain Obvious_ , Emma thinks. _Er, well, Sheriff Obvious._

"I am not," she states.

"I'm Sheriff Graham Humbert," he smiles at her. She supposes he's trying to be charming, and she admits that he is very handsome. She's long ago given up on the opposite sex, though. Something of a "fool-me-once" mindset.

Emma doesn't lift her eyes from where they have settled on the bar. Her voice is irrefutably unenthusiastic. "Emma Swan. Charmed."

He chuckles. "You already don't like me?"

She looks up and offers him a tight smile. "Let's just say that law enforcement and I have never really meshed too well." She removes her jacket and hangs it on the back of the barstool. She feels the Sheriff's eyes on the sleeve of colorful tattoos running down from her right arm from the shoulder to the wrist and resists the urge to snap at him. She is more than used to people judging her by her appearance, but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

"Here you are." Ruby returns with a plate of food and cup of steaming hot coffee. Emma takes time to fill the bitter drink with plenty of sugar and cream before daring to take a sip. Hot cocoa would definitely be preferable, but she needs the caffeine to perk herself up a bit.

"Thanks," Emma says, swiping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. "I seriously need this."

"Nice ink," Ruby notes as she eyes blonde's arm with big eyes. Everything about Emma seems to excite and interest the younger woman, and the blonde can't help but smile at her. "You got anymore?"

"Yeah, but I can't exactly show those off in a public institution," Emma chuckles, only partially joking. Ruby and Graham raise their eyebrows simultaneously, and both look like they are more than curious to see all of the blonde's tattoos.

Emma's phone vibrates against the bar, and she lifts it. Barry's number flashes on the front, and she sighs. "Give me a second. I need to take it." Placing the phone to her ear, she answers it. "Hey, Barry."

"Where the hell are you, Emma?" The older man demands. "I've been trying to call you for hours!"

"Don't have a lot of signal out here, sorry," she says back as she sips from her coffee.

"Out where? Where are you, kid?"

"Storybrooke, Maine," she answers.

"Where the hell's that?"

"No clue, but I'm here. I was tracking Irving here."

"You mean you didn't catch him at the bar?"

She rubs at her still-sore cheek, which is bruising up nicely. "I had him, but he slipped away. You failed to mention that's got one hell of a right hook."

"I don't like this, Emma," Barry blows out, and she can almost smell the smoke coming through the phone. "I don't like it one bit. He's dangerous."

"Yeah, you said that already," she nods. "I underestimated him before—I won't do it twice. I'm going to find him, bring him back, and cash him in. When have I ever let you down?"

"You want me to list chronologically or alphabetically?" the old man grumbles, and she smiles.

"Ha-ha," she says. "I'm going to get him, Barry. Stop worrying. Operation Dickhead is a go."

"I thought it was Operation Money Bag?" he questions.

She frowns. "It was until he punched me in the face and made me chase him out into the middle of nowhere. Now, it's Operation Dickhead."

Barry chuckles. "Alright then. I'd hate to be him. You be careful, kid, and keep me posted."

"Will do, Barry," she says. "Talk to you when there are any new developments." She hangs up the phone.

"You're looking for someone?" Ruby asks excitedly, and she looks back at the waitress and Sheriff.

"Apparently the same person who put that bruise on your face," Graham adds, nodding to her cheek. "Anything I should be worried about?"

"Shouldn't be, no," she shrugs. "Have either of you seen this man?" She pulls the mug shot of Bradley Irving from her pocket. "He's driving a 1994 Nissan sedan, brown, full of dents. Bullet holes in the back windshield. Name is Bradley Irving, but he could be going by the name Mitch Grant."

"Haven't seen him," Graham answers, and Ruby shakes her head as well. "You think he's in Storybrooke?"

"He definitely came through here," she nods. "I was tracking him earlier but lost him about forty-five minutes ago. He was headed straight for your town."

"What did he do?" Ruby asks, practically bouncing at the idea of a fugitive manhunt. Storybrooke is the town where nothing happens, and the idea of some excitement has her blood pumping.

"He's wanted for assault on three charges," Emma answers. "He skipped bail, and I'm trying to bring him in."

"You're a cop?" Graham furrows his brow at her curiously.

She laughs. "No, not at all. Not even close. I'm a bail bonds agent."

Ruby gasps. "A bounty hunter?"

"More or less," Emma shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, and Ruby gives her a sultry smile. If she thought Emma was mysterious and dangerous before, it is nothing compared to what she thinks of her now. "Anyway, I had the guy pinned down back in Boston, but he got away. He may not even still be in this area, but I think he might be. We were both driving a long time, and he's going to have to stop at some point. Why not here? It's the first town we've seen for miles—it makes sense that he'd stop in."

"You're right," Graham nods. "I'll keep an eye out for him. If you need any help at all finding him, the Sheriff's station is at your disposal."

"Thanks," Emma says, taken back slightly. Any run-ins she has ever had with police in the past—even as a bounty hunter—always ended badly. She has never met a cop she liked before, but this Graham guy seems alright to her. He's actually trying to help her, and he's kind. That's new to her.

As she goes to take a bite of her burger, a brown glimmer from outside catches her eye. Lifting her head with a frown, she makes a double take. Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops in awe.

"No fucking way," she mutters in shock.

"What is it?" Ruby asks, but Emma is already on her feet. She sprints outside the front door in time to see Brandon Irving's car flying down Main Street.

"Hey!" she cries out and takes off running after it as fast as her feet will carry her. _What the hell is Irving doing? Has he lost his fucking mind?_

The car speeds straight off the road and onto the docks at the harbor. Emma gasps when the car doesn't slow, and she comes to a stop, chest rolling. She watches in horror as the car pitches headfirst off the docks and nosedives straight into the harbor.

"Fuck."


	3. Chapter 3

Emma races towards the harbor as the tail of the brown sedan sinks lower and lower into the water. She is only vaguely aware in the back of her mind of her name being called somewhere behind her, but it is the last thing she is concerned with. All she can think about is the fact that that car submerged underwater is holding the man she's looking for. The man she chased to that stupid, fucking town. She has to save him. Partially because if he dies, she doesn't get paid. Mostly, though, she just doesn't want his blood on her hands.

She knows exactly what she's going to do as she nears the end of the dock, but she tries not to think about it. She knows it's a stupid idea, and she knows that if she dwells on just how stupid it is for too long that she will talk herself out of it. So, she doesn't hesitate before launching herself off the edge of the dock into the water.

 _Jesus fuck, it's cold!_ Is the first thought that registers when she plunges downward into the arctic water. Of course, she expected it to be cold, but it's worse than she could've imagined. Ignoring the burn when she opens her eyes underwater, she swims downward to the driver's side door of the car. Her muscles are freezing and spasming, but she pushes them forward anyway. The deeper she goes, the colder the water gets and the more sluggish her body becomes in response.

Her hands grip the car door handle, and she pulls at it forcefully. It takes most of her strength underwater, but she manages to pry it open eventually. Her eyes widen when she doesn't see Bradley Irving sitting there unconscious as she had expected. No one is there. The car is empty except for, she quickly discovers, a brick in the floorboard near the gas pedal. It must've rolled off the accelerator when the car fell over the edge of the dock.

 _Motherfucker._ Emma pushes herself upward off the side of the car, kicking her legs hard to fight against the suction of the sinking car. Her lungs are burning, and her body is barely reactive at all. Most of her extremities have gone numb, and she struggles just to keep moving forward. She's not far from the surface, but it seems to take her ages to move a few feet at a time. Her vision spots with black shadows, and she feels herself fading into unconsciousness. She tries to fight it off, but there's little she can do. Her strength is spent, and she floats limply in the water.

She doesn't even feel the fingers wrap around her arm, or the hand jerk her upward out of the water hard. Her body is so numb and her mind so clouded that she doesn't even realize she is being lifted up onto the dock. The warmth of the sun on her skin is vague and distant, not enough to drag her back into reality.

"Emma! Emma!" The voice sounds as though its coming to her though a mile-long tunnel, echoing quietly in the chambers of her mind and incites no answer. It isn't until a pair of lips meet hers, the spike of stubble beard tickling her skin that she reacts. A coldness rushes up her throat, and her eyes flash open wide. Leaning over from where she lays on the dock, she coughs up what must be a gallon of seawater, hacking and shivering.

"You're alright!" Sheriff Graham sighs, a large, rough hand resting on her shoulder.

She looks up at him. "Y… You _kissed_ me?"

"Actually, I saved you," he chuckles.

"Oh," she mutters, and her cheeks burn hot red. "Yeah."

"Emma!" Ruby is at her side in a moment. "Oh my God, that was insane! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-I was t-thinking I could save him," she says back through chattering teeth.

"There was nothing you could do," Graham frowns. "He made his choice."

"H-He wasn't in there," she informs them both, and their eyes widen. "He put a f-fucking brick on the gas pedal. He was just trying to get rid of the c-car and throw me off the scent. Which he d-did." She shivers hard, struggling to catch her breath, and falls involuntarily against the Sheriff. "S-So cold."

"We've got to warm her up," Graham states. Before she can blink, he sweeps her dripping-wet body up in his arms and begins carrying her away from the docks.

"W-Where…?" She can't manage to finish the question.

"It's alright," he says back softly. "You're going to be alright, Emma. Trust me."

 _Fat chance,_ she thinks but is too cold and exhausted to verbalize it or fight him. Instead, she just relaxes against him, eyes closed and breath shuddering past blue lips.

Graham takes her to the hospital, where she is taken to a room and treated for hypothermia. She wants to protest that it's too much, but she doesn't have the strength to speak. She's always hated hospitals with their white walls and sick people, but she doesn't deny that the bed does feel warm and comfortable. She is only barely aware of the nurse by her side and doesn't jump or squirm when she inserts a needle into her arm. A warmth enters her from the needle and spreads throughout her body slowly. A garbled sound makes its way out her throat, and the nurse offers her a comforting smile.

"Don't worry," she says. "It's nothing bad, I promise. Just something to help warm you up." She places a hand on the blonde's forehead. "Seems to be working, too. You get some rest for now, sweetie."

Emma wouldn't normally be so compliant, but her eyes are shutting of their own accord. She feels herself falling asleep and has neither to strength nor desire to fight it off.

She's not sure how long she sleeps. Could be hours, could be minutes. She has strange dreams while she sleeps, and she remembers them after she wakes. Dreams of fairytale characters and evil curses and prophecies. Dreams of parents. That's how she knows their only fantasies. Emma has never met the people who dropped her off on the side of a highway as a newborn, and she never intends to.

Her eyes open to the feeling of a hand on her forehead, and she looks up. A woman stands by her bedside, observing her with concerned, forest-green eyes. Her hair is black and cut short, her skin pale white and cheeks rosy. She is dressed conservatively in pants and a cardigan sweater, and her dark brows are pinched in worry.

"You're awake," she says upon seeing Emma's eyes and smiles in relief. "Good."

"Who're you?" Emma croaks out in a cracked voice.

"My name's Mary Margaret Blanchard," the woman answers. "I volunteer here at the hospital." Emma rubs her throbbing head uncertainly. "Do… Do you remember what happened?"

"I jumped into the harbor," the blonde replies, then looks around the room. "Where's the Sheriff?"

"He's outside in the lobby," Mary Margaret says and smiles slyly at Emma. "You left quite an impression on him, you know. He's been pacing the halls ever since you got here, hassling anyone who walks by for news about you. I've never known Graham to ever really care about anyone. He's nice enough, of course, but he doesn't really worry himself with other people outside of his job. He's something of a lone wolf."

"Well, we've got that much in common then," Emma murmurs before looking up at the dark-haired woman. "I'm Emma, by the way. Emma Swan." She doesn't know why she says it. She's not one to introduce herself or divulge too much personal information—it gives people the wrong idea, usually. Like she wants to be their friend. There's something about this Mary Margaret, though. Something that she trusts. Something she likes.

"Do you usually go swimming in October, Emma Swan?" Mary Margaret inquires with a warm smile.

"Not typically," the blonde laughs back hoarsely. "I thought someone was in trouble, and I did something stupid to help them."

"So, you're a white knight, then?" Mary Margaret says. "A natural-born savior?"

"Not even close," Emma says, and her voice is cut with a hard, raspy cough that sounds like she smokes as much as Barry. A chill runs down her body when one of the several blankets wrapped around her slips off.

"Let me get you something hot to drink," Mary Margaret says as she heads for the door. "Coffee work?"

"Hot chocolate would be better," Emma corrects sheepishly, and the other woman smiles.

"A woman after my own heart," she says before disappearing out the door for the cafeteria. Emma sighs, settling back in the bed and cocooning herself tighter in the blankets. She can't shake a strange feeling of déjà vu. Somehow, she feels like she's met Mary Margaret Blanchard before, though she's certain she hasn't. A weird feeling sets in her mind. The feeling like she's missing something very important, though she has no idea what it could be.

"Emma!" Sheriff Graham sprints into the room, boots squeaking on the linoleum floors, and rushes to her side. "You're awake." He smiles widely at her.

"I am," she nods her head, brow furrowed at him. She isn't sure why the man seems so compelled by her. She hadn't been even remotely kind to him at the diner. _Maybe he's one of those guys who's into mean girls_ , she thinks. Whatever his deal is, she wishes he'd get over it already.

"You passed out," he continues and places a hand over hers. She frowns at the contact. "Scared the hell out of me. I've been waiting for hours to hear something about you."

"You didn't need to wait around," she says gruffly, pulling her hands away from his. "I can take care of myself."

"I wanted to," he persists. "I wanted to be here when you woke up. To make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," she clears her throat, sitting up. "Warm and rested. Recovered. Ready to find Bradley Irving and kick his ass."

Graham opens his mouth to say something, but he is cut off.

"So, you're the one responsible for all this chaos." Emma looks up at the husky voice to see a woman standing at the foot of her hospital bed. Immediately, her mouth goes dry, and her heart lodges itself in her throat somewhere. Her eyes soak in the beautiful woman before her slowly. Russet-brown eyes glower at Emma with the subtle light of slow-burning embers, lined with smoky makeup, and ruby red lips play at a smile but don't quite form one. Sleek black hair falls to the woman's perfect jawline, and a slight scar over her upper lip makes Emma shiver from something entirely different than the cold. The woman's small body is tightly encased in a beige dress that accents her smooth, tan skin perfectly. She looks all-business, and something about that makes Emma's stomach jerk.

"Madame Mayor," Graham says, and Emma's jaw drops. _This is the mayor?_ To Emma, mayors are supposed to be old, fat men with bald heads and mustaches in three-piece suits. Not sexy women who make her pulse quicken. "What are you doing here?"

The mayor's eyes flicker between him and Emma a moment, absorbing the exchange between them, and Emma wonders a moment how long she had been in the room. There's something strange in the way she looks at Graham then. Something that makes it clear she doesn't like how he dotes on the blonde.

"I heard about the fiasco at the harbor," she finally answers, and her gaze settles on Emma. "You've only been here a day, and you've managed to turn my quiet little town upside down, Miss…"

"Swan," the blonde inserts quickly. "My name is Emma Swan."

"Miss Swan," the mayor finishes, and the name sends another shiver rippling down Emma's spine. No one's ever called her that before, and something about how it rolls of the other woman's tongue makes Emma think no one else will ever be able to say it quite like that. "I'm Regina Mills, mayor of this fine town."

"I-I'm sorry, Madame Mayor," Emma says, "for any trouble I've caused you. I had no intentions of it. I'm just looking for a criminal."

"And you think he's here?" she asks, cocking a flawless eyebrow at the blonde.

"I'm positive he is," Emma nods. "The car in your harbor was his—he dumped it to get me off his trail. So, unless somebody's reported a stolen vehicle recently, he's most likely still here."

"Well, Sheriff, have there been any such reports?" Regina questions, and he stumbles over syllables a moment. "Oh, you wouldn't know, would you? You've been far too tied up here, worrying yourself over Miss Swan."

"I wanted to make sure she was okay," he finally says. "She didn't look good at all when I brought her here."

"Emma, I got your hot chocolate." Mary Margaret freezes as soon as she steps in the hospital room at the sight of the mayor. Regina gives her a scalding look, and the pixie-haired woman immediately averts her gaze. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not," Emma said, eyes glued eagerly on the Styrofoam cup in the woman's hands. She can smell the chocolate from across the room, and it makes her mouth water. Mary Margaret quickly darts to Emma's side and hands her the drink. The blonde takes a generous sip, enjoying how the hot drink spreads its warmth throughout her body.

"Hey," Emma says, looking up at Mary Margaret in surprise. "How'd you know I like cinnamon on my hot chocolate?"

"You do?" she asks with wide eyes. "I didn't even mean to put it on—it's just a force of habit. It's the only way I drink it. I-I've never met anyone who likes it that way, too."

Emma grins at her. "Separated at birth much?" The brunette smiles back at her. Emma begins to lift herself up, wincing at her protesting muscles.

"What are you doing?" Mary Margaret asks as both she and Graham jump to her aid.

Emma shrugs them off. "Stretching. I'm feeling much better now. Seriously. One-hundred percent better now. Check it out." She slips out from under the covers and stands on wobbly legs as if its her first day on them. Even so, she remains upright and beams proudly. "Just like it never happened." She realizes for the first time that she is wearing not her dress but an open-back hospital gown, and she grabs at the back to close it with red cheeks.

"Emma, you should be careful," Graham advised, brow knit in worry. "Your body went through a lot, and you need to focus on building your strength back up."

"No, I need to focus on finding Bradley Irving," she corrects with a shake of her head. "He's dangerous, and I'm not going to risk him hurting innocents. The sooner I find him, the sooner I can get out of your hair and take him back where he belongs." She squares her jaw. "I can't wait to see them lock his ass behind bars."

"He's really dangerous?" Mary Margaret squeaks. She has heard stories of the man Emma is chasing, but she knew little more than rumors.

"Dangerous enough to get a fifteen-thousand-dollar bond on his head," the blonde confirms and stretches herself out. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to get changed, get a room for the night, and try and track down this bastard." She moves shakily for the door, but as she crosses the room her knees tremble and buckle beneath her. She reaches for something to hold herself up, but there is nothing nearby, and she pitches forward. She's sure she's going to land hard on the floor when a pair of arms loop around her waist, holding her up. At first, she assumes it to be Graham again. But, no. These arms are strong, but smaller. Smoother and softer. Looking up with wide eyes, she gasps when she sees the mayor looking down at her with… is that concern? Their skin touching feels magnetic, and both women are bolted in place.

Finally, Emma finds her voice in the back of her throat. "Thanks."

"Y-You're welcome," Regina answers back just as breathily. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," the blonde assures her as she stands again, straightening herself out. The mayor's soft hands remain on her waist protectively. "Just a little clumsy."

"Perhaps you should wait for the doctor," Regina suggests. "Whale might not be the most competent physician, but he will know if you're fit to be discharged or not. Wouldn't want for you to leave and take a turn for the worse."

Emma smirks. "I'm pretty tough, Madame Mayor. Been through a lot of shit in my time, and it's going to take a whole lot more than hypothermia to do me in." Regina doesn't look convinced. "I'm okay, I promise. Just a little weak." She takes a step back from the mayor and shows off her sure-footedness. "See. It was just a little stumble. I'm fine."

"Emma," Mary Margaret whispers, and the blonde turns to look at her. "The back of your gown."

Emma suddenly becomes very aware of a draft on her backside, and she quickly closes the gown behind her. Not before she catches Graham's eyes on her, though, and her ears burn. He clears his throat awkwardly, finally managing to lift his gaze, and Emma doesn't miss the sharp, pointed look the mayor gives him.

Emma sidesteps for the door, trying to keep her front to everyone present. "Yeah, I'm going to go."

She walks outside and hurries to find a nurse to get her things together. As she walks, though, she hears Regina snap angrily at the Sheriff:

"You are a _pig_."

Emma tries halfheartedly not to smile to herself, and she fails miserably.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: So sorry for the late update. I went on vacation this past week and didn't have very much time to write. This chapter's a long one, though, so hopefully that makes up for it a little bit. I was a little lost on this story and where it was going to go, but after several drafts I think I've figured it out. Thanks for the reviews and favorites and follows, and, as always, please continue!_

* * *

Emma Swan stands on the pier and watches the brown sedan being out of the water by a tall crane, arms folded in front of her and eyes narrowed. A strong breeze blows her hair back over her shoulders, and she is grateful for the clothes she purchased at a local store. The jeans and navy-and-red checked flannel are a thousand times more comfortable as well as suitable for the weather than that damned dress. And the boots she bought are a welcome relief from those God-awful heels.

When the crane releases the car, settling it on the street carefully, she approaches the soaking vehicle quickly, jaw clenched in annoyance. Glancing at the bumper, she sees the tracker she placed on it days ago, ruined from the water. Moving to the driver's side, she throws the door open and begins her search. She tears the car apart, top-to-bottom. Raids the inside as well as the trunk. She even removes the tires to check for any hidden items. Pops the hood and searches every crevice and crack. She has seen a lot in all her years as a bounty hunter, and she knows all the tricks of the trade. In all her experience, she has never had any of her traces successfully clean up their trail behind them. She has used even the smallest of clues to track down her marks before.

This time, however, things are different. She tears that car apart, and she finds nothing helpful at all. A dripping wet sock that she refuses to touch in the back seat. A crumpled, soggy poster advertising a strip club back in Boston. An empty prescription bottle with the name and label ripped off. That's it. That's all she finds. She's great at her job, but she knows that not even she could work with any of that garbage.

"Son of a bitch!" she exclaims, kicking the front of the car furiously, and leans on her palms against the hood. "When I get my hands on that asshole…"

"I suppose that means you didn't find anything useful?" She looks back at Sheriff Graham, her face twisted in irritation. She is already pissed off—this guy with his puppy-dog eyes and unrequited attraction was only going to make it worse.

"No," she snaps back. "I didn't find anything worth a damn." She shakes her head, standing upright. "Just tow this thing to the nearest junkyard and turn it into scrap metal—it's worthless."

"Don't let it get you down," he urges her, and his optimism gives her a headache. "Just because you hit a dead-end doesn't mean that the trail's gone cold. You've just got to find another route to take."

"I know how to do my job, thanks," she rolls her eyes.

"You know, I might could help you track him down," he offers with a small shrug of his shoulders. "I am a police officer, after all. Maybe we could meet over dinner and work out a plan?"

She looks up at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you asking me out on a date, Sheriff?"

He smiles coyly. "I could be, yes."

She squares up with him, hands on her hips. "I hate to bust your bubble, dude—actually, no I don't. I'm not interested. Not now. Not ever. You are barking up the wrong tree."

He furrows his brow. "Is it because I'm a cop?"

"It's because you're a man," she says back shortly, and his eyes widen. She doesn't owe him an explanation, but she decides to lay it out directly for him. Maybe then he'll leave her alone. "I'm gay, Graham. Super gay. Gay as fuck, actually."

"Really?" he asks as if she just told him she was an alien, and she nods. "Oh, I-I'm sorry. I didn't… I had no clue."

"Seriously?" Emma says. "Look at me, dude. I'm wearing a flannel from the men's department, Doc Martens, and a beanie. I was blasting Tegan and Sara with the windows down in my car yesterday."

He raises his eyebrows. "Who?" She palms her face in frustration. "I didn't realize that meant you're a lesbian."

"I legitimately became a walking stereotype in the hopes that you would catch on," she sighs. "Though, to be fair, I dress like this pretty much all the time, and I do genuinely love Tegan and Sara's music." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "Damn, I really am a stereotype."

"I don't really know what you're talking about right now," Graham says uncertainly, "but I'm sorry for not realizing sooner. If I'd known, I wouldn't have even asked you something so stupid if I had known."

"It's fine," Emma waves a hand casually. "Just keep it in your pants from now on." She turns back to the car. "I really thought he would've left some kind of a trail behind. Now, I'm back to square one."

"There haven't been any reports of disturbances in town," Graham states. "He must be laying pretty low."

"Or he's not even here anymore," she adds. "Damn it. I hate being in the dark like this." She shakes her head. "Right now, I just need to wait him out. If he's still here, he's going to slip up at some point. Do something stupid, and when he does, I'll be there to catch him."

"I'll be glad to help in any way possible," he says back, and she gives him a sharp eye. "As a friend, I swear. I'm not stupid enough to pursue someone who clearly isn't interested."

"Thanks, Graham," Emma smiles at him. "Means a lot to have the law trying to help me for once. I'm going to take a walk now—clear my head, familiarize myself with the town. I have a feeling I may be here longer than anticipated."

He nods. "Of course. I'll let you be." She turns to go. "Oh, and Emma? It's good to have you here in town. I think you'll find Storybrooke as much a home as the rest of us do."

A soft smile plays at her lips, and she can only muster up a small "thank you" in response. It is the first time in her life she has ever felt welcome before. Wanted, even. While she doubts she'd consider a place like Storybrooke home, she feels a warmth bloom in her chest at the aspect that someone might want her there.

Stuffing her hands into her jeans pockets, Emma makes her way through town, absorbing everything around her. She garners a few waves and "hello's" which she answers with a polite nod and smile. The town is smaller than she thought, and she finds herself on the other end before long at all. When she walks up on a castle-playground near the beach that looks to be made out of driftwood, she can't help but smile at it. It reminds her of her childhood summers where she would spend all day at the nearest park in similar playsets to escape whatever hellish foster family or group home she was living in at the time. Those places had been her escape, her refuge, and she feels a similar draw to this fort.

Without hesitation, she walks up to the playground and climbs inside. The planks whine under her steps, revealing their age. She settles down under the shade of the tallest tower, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head against a wooden beam. Closing her eyes, she takes a moment to feel the wind against her chest and listen to the sound of the water lapping on the shore behind her. It is a beautiful moment in an admittedly beautiful place, and for a brief moment she is able to lose herself in it. To forget about Bradley Irving and all the trouble he'd caused her. About the scars—physical and emotional—she bears from a painful past. She drops the defenses that she keeps up constantly, and she allows herself to feel like she did years ago. Lighthearted. Relaxed. Free.

"What are you doing?" She opens her eyes at the small voice and is immediately met with a pair of deep, hazel eyes, caught somewhere between brown and green. She feels like she may drown in those eyes, wide with curiosity, and blinks to regain herself. A little boy sits before her, legs crossed. He can't be more than ten or eleven years old with short, tousled brown hair and narrow lips that pull down at the corners in a strangely familiar way.

Emma jumps, startled. "Where did you come from?"

"This is my place," he answers. "I come here all the time. What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to clear my head," she replies, brow knit. "I didn't mean to intrude on your property. You want me to go?"

He looks at her before smiling crookedly. "No, it's okay. You can stay." She smiles back at him. "What's your name anyway?"

"Emma," she answers him. "Emma Swan. What's your name?"

"Henry Mills." He thrusts his hand out, and she shakes it.

"Mills?" she repeats. "As in Mayor Mills?"

"Yeah, she's my mom," he replies, and her eyes widen. She has a kid? Emma can't imagine a woman that looks as professional and even regal as Regina Mills being a mother as well. Another piece to a puzzle she can't figure out. "You're new here, right?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I just got to town a few days ago."

"I heard about you," Henry says. "You're a bounty hunter." His eyes are lit with fascination.

"I am," she smiles. "Who told you that? Your mother?"

"No way," he shakes his head. "She doesn't tell me anything. I heard about it around town. You are hot gossip, you know."

"I've noticed," Emma mutters, thinking back to how everyone had stared at her when she first arrived in town. "What do you mean your mom doesn't tell you anything?"

"I mean, she doesn't talk to me about those kinds of things," he shrugs. "Important things. All she wants to talk to me about is school and eating my vegetables."

Emma laughs. "And you don't consider those things important?" He shakes his head no. "Yeah, me either."

He looks at her. "I like you, Emma Swan. You seem trustworthy." She smiles. "I'm going to let you in on a big secret about this town." He leans forward dramatically, his expression somber, and Emma meets him halfway, trying to hold in her chuckles. "It's magic."

"Magic?" she repeats and can't help a small grin. "What do you mean 'magic?'"

"Everyone here are fairytale characters," he answers. "Including my mother."

"Really?" Emma smirks slightly.

"Uh-huh," he nods. "The town was created by a dark curse, and everyone was banished here. They can't remember who they are, and they'll never get their happy endings until the curse is broken by True Love's Kiss. I have a whole storybook about it—I'd show you, but my mom made me leave it at home."

She thought a moment. "Huh. That's a very interesting concept, Henry. If that's the case, who's your mom?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Her? She's the Evil Queen who cast the curse."

"She doesn't seem so evil," Emma points out. "I met her, and she was very nice to me."

"Really?" Henry looks at her in disbelief. "She's not nice to anyone—she doesn't like people. At all. Everyone's afraid of her."

"I didn't think there was anything scary about her," Emma states. _Quite the contrary_ , she adds in her mind. "I like your theory, though, and I can tell you really believe in it. That's good."

He frowns. "Wait—so you don't think I'm crazy like everyone else?"

"Not at all," she says. "I think you're passionate about something, and everybody should have something they're passionate about. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it so long as you believe in it."

"Everyone else just says I should forget about it and grow up."

"Growing up is overrated." Emma gives him a teasing push on the shoulder, and he smiles. "Focus on being a kid right now. Have fun. Don't let all the adults squash your spirit and your imagination. Look at me. I'm twenty-seven-years-old, and I haven't grown up yet."

He laughs. "I like you."

"I like you, too," she answers, and his eyes widen.

"You mean it?" he questions.

"Yeah, absolutely," she says and frowns at how surprised he seems by that. "Is that so strange?"

"No, it's just… I don't have very many friends," he admits as his cheeks burn red. "And by many, I mean any at all. The other kids all either think I'm weird or are scared of my mother."

"Well, you've got a friend now," Emma smiles at him, and he beams. "So, Henry, what do you like to do when you aren't busting magical conspiracies open?"

He smiles widely and removes his back pack from his shoulders. A few minutes later, the two of them sit side-by-side and pour over Henry's comic books together. She is genuinely interested in them, and her enthusiasm thrills him. He barely knows how to contain his excitement at having someone to talk to. Someone who can make him smile and laugh so easily. Someone who will really listen to him. The feeling is entirely new to him, and he adores it immediately.

"So, your favorite is Batman?" Emma asks as they flip through the comics together.

"Yeah," Henry nods. "He's cool because he doesn't have superpowers—he's just an ordinary guy who is a hero." He smiles. "I know it sounds lame, but it makes me feel like I could be one, too."

"You can," she encourages, and he looks at her fondly. "Kid, you can be whatever you want. Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise. If you want to be a hero, be one. Nothing's stopping you. I've got full faith in you."

"Thanks," he says, cheeks burning scarlet. "So, um, which one is your favorite?"

"Hm, I don't know," she sighs, looking back down at the comics. "There are some pretty great superheroes here. I think… Catwoman is my favorite."

He wrinkles his freckled nose. "Catwoman? But she's kind of a bad guy."

"Those make for the most interesting characters," Emma tells him with a smile. "The ones with some grit to them. I was never one for the Superman-type who are all good all the time. It's not realistic. Catwoman is, though. She's got pain and darkness in her past, and that's reflected in who she is. Sure, she makes some questionable choices, but she does good things, too. And I, for one, would rather look for the good in a person rather than the bad."

"You're pretty cool, Emma," Henry smiles at her.

"Thanks," she says back and nudges him playfully with her elbow. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Henry Daniel Mills!" They both look up at the voice to see the mayor trudging through the sand towards them.

"Uh-oh," Henry says. "What time is it?"

Emma checks her wrist-watch. "Uh, four-forty-five. Why?"

"Oh, no," he mumbles. "I lost track of time—I was supposed to be at therapy thirty minutes ago!"

"You go to therapy?" Emma furrows her brow.

He gives her an exasperated look. "I'm the crazy kid who believes in fairytales, remember?"

"What are you doing out here, young man?" Regina demands as she stomps up to the castle playground, arms crossed. "Are you aware of the time?"

"I am now," Henry says sheepishly.

"I've been worried sick," she continues. "Dr. Hopper called me to tell me you didn't show up, and I've been driving myself mad looking for you."

He stares down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to."

"It's probably my fault, Mayor Mills," Emma says, standing and jumping down from the castle. She offers an apologetic smile as she helps Henry down as well. "We just started talking, and then he showed me his comics. We totally lost track of time."

"Henry showed you his comics?" the mayor repeats, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He usually doesn't even say two words to anyone."

The blonde smiles down at the boy as he moves to his mother's side. "We hit it off, I guess."

"Emma's super cool, Mom," Henry relays. "She likes comics, too. Her favorite is Catwoman." He beams with pride. "She told me I could be whatever I wanted—even a hero."

Regina's deep brown eyes soften at that. "And she's right about that." She looks up at Emma with a smile tugging at her lips. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Miss Swan?"

The blonde smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "What can I say? I like to keep people guessing." Her stomach lets out an involuntary growl. "Whoa. Sorry. It's been a while since I ate. As good as that diner food is, it just doesn't stick."

"Can Emma eat dinner with us tonight?" Henry requests, looking up at his mother.

Emma's eyes widen. "Oh, kid, I don't know about that."

"Why not?" Regina counters, shocking the blonde. "It's the least I can do, after all. You kept an eye on Henry and kept him out of any trouble. That merits a meal at the very least. And I promise that my cooking will be much better than what they serve at that greasy spoon in town."

Emma hesitates a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek, before finally smiling and nodding. "Alright then. I'd love to come to dinner."

"Excellent," the mayor says brightly back at her. "It will be ready by six o'clock. I'll expect you there on time, of course. I live on 108 Mifflin Street—white house, you can't miss it." Placing her hands on Henry's shoulders, she turns with a smile that Emma swears is sensual. "I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Swan."

Henry grins at her and waves. "See you later, Emma!"

She offers up a lame "see you" and watches as they leave together. Her eyes fall instinctively on Regina Mills' curves, and she wonders if the mayor always walks with such sway in her hips. Releasing a deep breath, she runs her fingers through her hair. _What the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time, Swan?_


	5. Chapter 5

When she pulls up to 108 Mifflin, Emma is stunned. She parks her Bug along the curb and gives herself a few minutes to gape up at the impressive white house before her. No, it's not even a house. It's a mansion. She isn't sure what she expected—it is the mayor's residence, after all. Even if it weren't, it only took one look at Regina Mills to imagine that her home would be just as spectacular as her. The stately manor towers over the street, its immaculate front yard lined with a black, wrought-iron gate.

Once Emma finally manages to close her mouth, she cuts her car off and steps outside. Tossing her blonde mane over her shoulders, she opens the gate and heads up the walkway slowly for the house. Held in her left arm is a paper-bag-wrapped bottle of red wine that she hopes the mayor will like. In her other hand she holds a gift for Regina's son. Stepping onto the front stoop, she takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and raps her knuckles against the solid, white door.

It is a matter of seconds before the door is opened, and Henry stands before Emma, a megawatt smile lighting up his face. It's the type of smile that no one, not even hard-as-stone Emma Swan, can resist, and so she smiles back warmly.

"Emma!" he exclaims at the sight of her. "You're here!"

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" she asks.

"Well, maybe a little bit. It's just that you're a drifter, you know? I didn't even know if you'd be staying in town that long." He leans closer to her, lowering his voice. "We don't get new people here. Ever."

"Because of the curse?" she surmises, and he nods. "Well, you've got a new person now." He grins widely.

"Henry, dear, hurry and close the door—you're letting the cold in!" Regina's voice rings out from the kitchen, and he stiffens slightly. Stepping to the side, he opens the door wider, and Emma moves inside.

If the outside of the Mills household is beautiful, the inside is spectacular. Emma has never been inside a home so stunning before. _Regina must have taken a course or two in interior design_ , she thinks. The house is tied together in a blend of blacks and whites, the striking contrast from dark and white somehow balancing perfectly.

Henry leads Emma to the kitchen, and she gawks at the house as she walks, absorbing it all. Regina must have paid painstakingly close attention to every inch of the place when she was decorating it—Emma is amazed at the incredible details and workmanship she finds. The home is an architectural masterpiece.

"Mom, Emma's here."

 _Speaking of masterpieces._ Emma looks forward, and her throat closes. She can't breathe. She can't think. She can't speak. All she can do is stare ahead at, without doubt, the most beautiful woman she has ever seen. Regina Mills wears a dark plum dress, and it is tight. Almost sinfully tight. Emma can't help her eyes roaming over each perfect curve that it hugged. The front of the dress is lower than anything she'd seen the mayor wear so far, exposing a generous yet not indecent amount of cleavage. Enough to make Emma's midsection tighten. The dress falls to her calves, which are defined by a pair of black stiletto heels that the blonde commends her for being able to walk in. Her always-perfect, onyx-black hair falls in silky smooth locks that Emma finds herself wanting to run her fingers through.

Regina smiles as she walks decisively towards the blonde, who is suddenly feeling grossly underdressed for what she thought was a casual dinner. "Good to see you again, Miss Swan. And on time as well."

"I-oh-um—" Emma stumbles over syllables, and Regina's smile widens into a grin. Clearly, she is pleased with the stuttering, wide-eyed mess she has reduced her dinner guest to. Finally, Emma swallows hard and gathers her senses. "It's good to see you, too, Mayor Mills. I, uh, I brought something." She removes the wine bottle from the brown bag and holds it up. "Refreshments."

"How kind of you." Regina takes it and inspects it carefully. Emma holds her breath, hands clasped anxiously behind her back. "Bordeaux, hm? Excellent choice, Miss Swan. That is one of my favorite wines."

A sigh of relief passes the blonde's lips, and she genuinely smiles. "Good. I wasn't sure what kind you liked, so I made an educated guess." She looks down at Henry. "Got you something, too, kid." His face brightens when she holds out the Batman comic to him. The guy at the store had told her it was the newest edition—the one all the kids were dying for.

"Awesome!" he exclaims, taking it in his hands and staring down at it like it was made of gold. "This is the one I've been wanting! Thank you so much, Emma!"

"You're welcome." The blonde looks back up and meets the mayor's inquisitive gaze. "I just, erm, didn't want to show up empty-handed. Always thought that was bad manners. I thought you would enjoy the wine, and I knew he'd like the comic." She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. "I hope I didn't overstep or anything."

"Not at all," Regina assures her, and the softness in her eyes convinces Emma that she means it. "It's very kind and thoughtful of you. Dinner should be ready shortly—I'm just finishing up. Henry, dear, have you set the table yet?"

"Not yet, no," he says, sliding the comic under his arm. "I'll do it now."

"I'll help you out, kid," Emma tells him, moving along beside him. Now that she has recovered from the shock of seeing Regina, she smells the tantalizing aroma of tomato sauce and garlic hanging in the air. "It smells fantastic, Madame Mayor."

"Thank you." Regina smiles as the blonde and her son bumble around the dining room table at the same slow pace, placing the plates and utensils out meticulously. Both of their brows are furrowed, and they both even have their tongues sticking out slightly. "I hope you like lasagna—it's Henry's favorite meal."

"It's delicious," the boy mouths to Emma, and she smiles.

"I'm sure it will be fantastic. Besides, I'm not very hard to please when it comes to food."

Emma and Henry finish setting the table just as Regina takes the finished lasagna out of the oven, and she brings it to the table. Emma gapes at the beautifully set dish, her mouth immediately watering in result.

"It meets your approval?" Regina smirks at the glassy-eyed blonde.

"This is homemade? Seriously? You didn't pick this up from a gourmet restaurant? It looks delightful."

Henry smiles. "Trust me. It tastes as good as it looks."

Regina serves the dish, and the three of them sit down at the table together.

"So, Emma, what's your story?" Henry asks.

"Henry, manners," Regina chastises, and he shrinks a few sizes.

"It's alright," Emma smiles. "I don't think I have a story, kid. I'm just me."

"Everyone has a story," he insists. "A home, a family."

Emma's face falls slightly. "Well, if that's a story, then I really don't have one." They frowned. Emma has never shared her past with anyone before, never felt comfortable enough to. She feels safe there, though. For some reason she can't fathom, she feels secure in that home with those two people she has only just met. "I, um, I'm an orphan. Spent most of my childhood in the foster system until I ran away."

"Oh." It's all Regina can say. She wants to say that she's sorry for that, bit she swallows it. That might be the very worst thing she could say.

"Hey, I was an orphan," Henry states, and both women's eyes widen. "I mean, sort of. My mom adopted me when I was a baby."

"Really?" Emma looks at the still-stunned mayor with a small smile. "That's… That's fantastic." Her eyes are soft when Regina looks into them. "The world could use more people like you."

It's something Regina has never heard before, and it takes her completely off-guard. Her mouth opens only to shut again as she struggles to drag her voice out of the back of her throat.

"Uh, t-thank you," the brunette manages to choke out, and Emma smiles at her. "We… We should eat before this gets cold."

Taking her fork in hand, she cuts a corner of her lasagna off and spears it. She doesn't notice how Regina regards her with a hyperattentive gaze, soaking in her every movement. Without a moment's hesitation, Emma places the food on her tongue and chews. Her eyes widen, and she looks at Regina.

"Oh my God, this is the best thing I've ever tasted." The mayor can't help but grin to herself at the high praise and takes a sip of her wine, which she is pleased to find pairs well with the pasta. "How did you make this? I can't even boil water."

Regina shrugs her shoulders casually, a movement that Emma finds strangely out of character for the regal-like woman. "I've always been good with recipes. Perhaps I could teach you sometime."

The words are out before she can even consider them, and they take everyone by surprise. Even Henry's eyebrows leap up to his hairline in astonishment. Never has he seen his mother interact with anyone like that. He thought that there was something different about this Emma woman before, but now he knows that she's special. Regina's mouth falls open slightly at herself. She can't even imagine herself thinking those words, much less saying them aloud.

Emma's lips perk upward in a stunned smile. "Maybe I'll take you up on that. Depending on how long I'm in Storybrooke."

Regina jumps at the chance to change the subject. "Yes, uh, how is your manhunt coming along?"

"Not very well unfortunately. I'm at a dead-end, and now all I can do is wait for him to slip up. Then, I'll find him and take him down."

"Take him down?" Henry repeats with round eyes.

The blonde smiles. "Figure of speech, kid. I'm just going to detain him and take him back to Boston where he'll have to answer for his crimes."

"You bring bad people to justice. You're like a hero. A knight."

"I wouldn't say that, kid. I just track down the bad guys for money. Nothing valiant or noble."

He smiles knowingly. "No, you help people. You are a hero, Emma, and you're going to catch this guy because heroes always win."

She drops her head to hide her blush, a glowing grin forming on her face. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

The dinner went smoothly to Emma's surprise. She'd come there that night expecting awkward silences filled only by the scratching of silverware against plates. There is none, though. They talk, and they laugh, and they smile. Emma has never felt so relaxed with people before. So contented. It's strange, and she can't wrap her mind around that warm, happy feeling.

When nine o'clock comes, Henry must go to bed. He groans, but Regina convinces him with a look. He bids Emma a sad goodnight, and she assures him that they will see each other again, which returns his smile. Regina walks him upstairs to tuck him in, leaving the blonde alone in the den.

Emma moves around the room, looking from the long white sofa to the big fireplace to the framed photograph over the mantle. She feels out of place in that neat, perfectly-ordered room, like a sloppy intrusion. It reminds her of when she would enter a new foster home as a child, that feeling of dread for the rejection and pain she knew would come eventually. Crossing her arms, she fights the urge to run away.

"Henry has taken quite a liking to you, Miss Swan."

As soon as she hears that throaty voice, her desire to escape vanishes, and she feels welcome again. At home, even. It's something she's never had before and something she doesn't want to let go of, even if it doesn't make sense.

"He's a great kid," she says back. "You've done an excellent job raising him."

Regina nods with a soft smile in thanks. "Would you care for a drink? Not to brag, but I make some of the best apple cider you'll ever have."

"It's not bragging if it's true, and after tasting your lasagna, I have no doubt that everything you make must be delicious."

She watches the mayor move to the bar against the far wall and pour out the amber contents of a crystal container into matching glass tumblers. She hands one to Emma who accepts it with a smile.

"Thanks." She takes a sip. "You're right. This is the best cider I've ever tasted. Are you sure you're not magic, Madame Mayor?"

The brunette smiles with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that makes Emma's chest constrict. The smile accentuates the faint scar above Regina's rose petal lips, and Emma's eyes are drawn to it again. "That is debatable."

"Thank you for inviting me over tonight. It means a lot. I don't…" she stops herself. "It doesn't happen a lot for me. I've never been much for making new friends." She shrugs at Regina's inquiring look. "Orphan complex, I guess."

"Ah. I see. You know, I think that might be one reason why Henry's attached to you so strongly." She frowns. "Ever since he found out he's adopted, he's struggled. Pulled away from me." She blinks, unsure of why she has disclosed something so personal to this woman she hardly knows. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure where that came from."

"It's alright. I get it. Sometimes, it's easier to talk to a stranger than it is to the people you know best."

"I don't really know anyone well enough to talk about these things."

"Well, we've got that much in common." She gives the mayor a warm look. "Don't worry too much over Henry—he'll come around eventually."

Regina's eyes burrow into her like bullets. "How do you know?"

"He's a lucky kid. He's got a great home in a nice town with a mother who clearly loves him more than anything. He just needs a little time to realize and appreciate that. He will, though."

"Thank you, Miss Swan. That… That is nice to hear."

"I mean it." She finishes off the drink in her glass. "Now, I should probably get going. It's getting late, and I'm sure you've got important things to do."

"It was a pleasure having you over tonight, Miss Swan." Regina walks Emma to the door, opening it up for her. "We don't get a lot of guests, and I know Henry enjoyed it." She clears her throat. "And I did as well."

"I'll have to return the favor before I leave town," Emma answers as she stands in the doorway. "Not over dinner—I'm afraid my cooking is bad by anyone's standards. But maybe something else. Maybe I could take you and the kid out sometime."

Regina's cheeks burn humiliatingly red. "Oh, that's not necessary."

Emma smiles. "I insist, Madame Mayor—it's the least I can do for how welcoming you've been. Have a nice night." She steps down the walkway for her car.

"Goodnight, Miss Swan," Regina calls after her.

The blonde turns, continuing her walk backwards, and beams at her. "For the love of God, just call me Emma." The brunette dips her chin as she laughs before closing the door. She stands in the den and watches Emma get into her car from the window, her index finger absentmindedly circling the rim of her glass. A small smile graces her lips, one that she hasn't worn in years. And when the taillights of that hideous yellow Bug disappear around the corner, she misses the blonde's company immediately. She truly enjoyed spending time with Emma and seeing her leave made her hollow chest ache. It's a strange feeling, one that she hasn't felt in so long. One that confuses and scares her. The smile falls from her lips and is replaced with a scowl. She can't allow herself to feel this way. She can't even imagine how it has happened. How could this stranger have dredged up emotions in her black heart that she'd buried centuries ago? She doesn't understand, but one thing she does know is that she has to fight it off. She knows that feeling all too well, and she knows what it leads to. While she might be on Cloud Nine now, she knows that a fall will come, and that's a heartbreak she won't allow herself to succumb to again. Of one thing Regina is certain: Emma Swan is nothing but trouble. The sooner she gets out of Storybrooke the better.

Driving for Granny's Bed and Breakfast, Emma wears a mile-wide grin. While she feels Regina's and Henry's absence acutely, she reminds herself that it's not as if she'll never see them again. Storybrooke's a small town. Chances are, she'll bump into them tomorrow, and she can't wait for it. _Maybe this place isn't so bad after all._


	6. Chapter 6

Emma cruises slowly down the street in her Bug, brow furrowed as she scans the expanse of town before her. The run-down apartment complexes. The shady people that stare right back at her with dark eyes and angry scowls. Graham had given her a layout of the town that morning, instructing her where the seedier end of Storybrooke is. She scopes it out first as she had a strong hunch Irving will huddle down there. It's cheap and a good place to get lost. Exactly what a man on the run would be looking for.

When she catches view of a shifty-looking motel on the corner, she stops her car. The paint is chipping off the brick—and not in a chic or industrial way—and the blinds behind the windows of each room are all broken and hanging. It is the type of place you see while on vacation and keep riding on past without a second glance. Unless, of course, you're a criminal.

Throwing her car into park beside the curb, Emma steps out and stares up at the place a moment. The sign above the door, lit with dimly blinking bulbs, reads "The Looking Glass." Frowning at the decidedly weird name, she moves forward and pushes the door open. Inside is the main office, and Emma steps up to an empty front desk. Seeing the bell there, she reaches out hesitantly and rings it.

"Well, hello there."

Emma jumps when a man materializes before her seemingly out of thin air. He is a tall, thin man donned in a trim, gray-and-mauve suit, and his arms and legs are so wiry they seem to stretch on for days. Pasty-skinned with short, slicked-back black hair, he looks at her with luminescent yellow eyes, like two glowing orbs, and a smile that unsettles Emma more than she can say. It is a smile that takes up his entire face. A smile that curls at the ends in an inhuman manner. A smile that turns her stomach.

"Wow," the blonde finally manages to say. "You, uh, you came out of nowhere."

His smile remains ever present, white teeth bared before. Emma can't place it, but there's something demented about this man. Something maddening in those eyes. "What can I do for you, Madame?"

"I'm actually looking for someone," she says and retrieves the picture from her pocket. "Bradley Irving. Possible alias Mitch Grant. Have you seen him?"

Bony neck extending forward, the man looks closely at the photo. Emma fights the urge to pull her hand back as she peers at those sharp, white teeth still clenched in a grin. She notices the tattoos running up and down his neck then, the black stripes running horizontally down his spine. Almost like cat markings. Weird.

"I'm afraid I haven't seen him," the man finally decides, straightening back up. His gravel-like voice makes Emma shudder involuntarily. She just wants to get the fuck out of that place, but she can't. She can't because her lie detector just spiked off the charts.

"Is that so?" Emma crosses her arms and leans forward, despite her desire to be as far away from this creep as possible. "Let me explain something to you, pal. I'm a bounty hunter, and I've got my own little super power where I can tell when someone isn't telling me the truth." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And you aren't."

His smile doesn't even flinch. "Prove it."

"What's going on in here?"

Another man springs out from the back office, even taller and slimmer than the smiling-one before her. His mousy brown hair falls to his neck and is swooped back, and he is dressed in a tailored burgundy suit. His wide, bulging eyes are the most vivid green Emma has ever seen before, and his nose twitches as he looks her over behind a pair of round glasses. His fingers clench and unclench around a cup of steaming tea as if he can't be still. Just like the other man, Emma detects a tick of insanity in his eyes. Unlike his companion, though, his lips are pulled straight down in an irritated frown.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demands in a higher-pitched, British lilt that still makes her wince all the same. "Who are you, what do you want?"

"I'm looking for this guy." She holds up the picture. "Seen him?"

He doesn't even look at it. "This isn't the lost-and-found, foolish girl! We don't see faces, and we don't remember names here. Unless you want to book a room, get the hell out!" He speaks fast and briskly without breathing between words.

"Look, all I need is—"

"I've had enough of you—Piers, Felix!"

Two men move to either side of Emma, sandwiching her between them. They are big men, tall and stout, and identical with bald heads, dark eyes, and goonish faces. Their meaty hands grab hold tight of Emma's arms, and she fights against them.

"Hey, let me go! Don't touch me!"

The man takes a casual sip of his tea. "Escort her out the back, boys."

"Yes, sir," the answer simultaneously in a deep, dumb voices. Lifting her easily off her feet, they carry a still-struggling Emma out through a back door. She is tossed by them into the alley, and her head hits the pavement, rattling her brain.

The two men speak in eerie unison. "Stay away from 'The Looking Glass,' or you'll get a whole lot worse." The door closes behind them, and she is left to gather herself alone.

As Emma tries to blink the shock away and gather her wits, she is unaware of the body approaching her silently from the shadows of the dirty alley. It isn't until a voice whispers into her ear that she realizes she isn't alone.

"Looking for me, Swan?"

She gasps as a fist tangles in her hair and jerks her head back. Looking up, she is brought face-to-face with Bradley Irving, his grin wide.

"Son of a bitch!" She lunges towards him, but he jerks her back by her hair, tearing a cry from her lips.

"You should've left well enough alone, sweetie," he says. "I tried to send you a message with the car, but it appears to have been too subtle for you. So, here's one you won't misread." He bashes her head against the brick of the building, and blood gushes out of her nose and busted lip. She thinks perhaps he will leave it at that when he relinquishes his grip on her hair, but he doesn't. As she crouches on her hands and knees, gasping for breath, he lands a hard kick in her stomach. Falling on her side and wheezing from the pain and shock, she peers up through blurry eyes at Bradley Irving as he stands over her.

"I'm warning you one last time, Swan: leave me the fuck alone. Next time, I won't let you walk away alive."

He disappears in the shadows again, leaving her to bleed in the alley.

* * *

Regina sits in the booth at Granny's, hands clasped in front of her and eyes trained on the wall. In front of her, Henry is chatting away about school or something like that. Ever since their dinner with Emma Swan, he has been more like his old self. More talkative and happier. Like the boy she'd raised. Sure, he is still short and guarded with her at times, but he is opening slowly back up to her. She can't help but think the blonde woman has everything to do with this, even though she won't allow herself to admit it. How a total stranger has managed to make such an impact not only on she and Henry but the entire town in a matter of days is beyond her.

"Can I get you anything else?" Ruby walks up to their table with a smile for Henry and a timid side-eye for Regina.

"The check," Regina says shortly, and she nods. The waitress lingers a moment, and Regina looks up to see her staring out the door. "Do you have an issue, Miss Lucas?"

Ruby blinks at the sharp tone and shakes her head. "Sorry, Madame Mayor. It's just strange. Emma is usually here by now. She eats dinner here every night, and she's here at six o'clock every evening like clockwork for a grilled cheese and hot cocoa. In fact, I haven't seen her all day." She wrings her hands. "I hope she hasn't left town already."

"No way," Henry says resolutely, and they both look down at him. "She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

Ruby smiles, but there is still worry in her eyes. "You're right, Henry. Of course. I'll, um, I'll be right back with your check." She moves back to the cash register.

"You seem awfully certain," Regina says to Henry with a small smile. "What makes you think Emma wouldn't leave town? She is a drifter, after all."

"Because we're friends," he states with a shrug. "She told me so. And friends don't leave without saying goodbye first." His eyes brighten. "Isn't she the coolest, Mom?"

Regina runs her finger over the rim of her glass. "She's something else, that's for sure."

"I mean, she likes all the things I do. Comics. Superheroes. Even fairy tales." The brunette looks at him with sharp eyes and an arched eyebrow. He shrinks a bit under her gaze. "We talked a little bit about it before. I told her about the story book."

"Henry, not this again," Regina sighs, pinching her brow. What does she have to do to squelch out this nonsense? She is already sending him to therapy twice a week. She'd threatened grounding and had even taken the book away for a whole week before. Nothing discourages him.

"You know what she said? She told me I wasn't crazy. She said I was passionate about something, and that was good. She told me not to grow up too fast and use my imagination while I could." He shrugs. "I know she doesn't believe in it like I do, but she didn't make me feel like I'm insane like everyone else does."

"You're not insane, Henry," Regina says, placing her hand on his. "That's not why you go to therapy. It's just that… being so wrapped up in something that isn't real, being obsessed with it, isn't healthy for anyone, even a boy. You have to differentiate reality from fantasy, Henry, and I'm worried that you're too enveloped in that book to do that anymore."

Henry glowers at her and rips his hand from hers. "Emma told me not to let anyone steal my spirit from me."

Regina's anger flares up in response. "Well, Emma isn't your mother, is she? She shouldn't be filling your head with ideas—it's not her place. I think it's time that Miss Swan leaves town for good."

"But Mom—"

"Don't go there, Henry. She doesn't belong here."

"I thought you liked her!"

"I do!" Regina frowns to herself when the two words blurt out, and Henry furrows his brow in confusion. "I just… This is a small, peaceful town, Henry. People like Emma Swan bring trouble with them. As mayor, it is my responsibility to make sure that she doesn't endanger any of my citizens."

"She isn't going to hurt anyone," Henry mumbled dejectedly. "She's a good person, and you know it. You're just freaked out because there's finally someone around here who isn't scared of you." She pressed her lips in a tight line. "Emma is my friend, Mom, and I won't let you push her away like you do everyone else."

"What is that supposed to mean, young man?" Before he can answer, though, their attention is grabbed by the approaching wail of a siren. Foreheads creased, the entire diner watches as the ambulance speeds down Main Street at top speed, lights flashing overhead. When was the last time an ambulance was called in Storybrooke? The last time anyone ever got hurt? No one can seem to recall.

"What is that about?" Henry asks.

"I'm not sure." Regina frowns. She can't shake a nagging feeling that it has something to do with a certain blonde.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: So, it's been a minute since the last update and for that I apologize. This summer has been a hectic one for me what with graduating college and embarking on an infuriating job search. This story has been the kind that comes along chapter by chapter slowly rather than as a whole on its own. Apologies for that. Thank you guys for the reviews and faves and follows. It means a lot._

* * *

When Graham calls her from the hospital telling her there is something she should see, Regina is certain it is about Emma Swan. Who else would it be? Nobody in Storybrooke ever gets hurt. Nothing interesting ever happens—or at least it didn't before the bounty hunter arrived and started shaking things up. It's so strange, but Regina knows that anytime an outsider wanders within the city limits they create chaos. Never so much as this woman, though. She's trouble, Regina is sure of it. However, she can't honestly say that she doesn't like it.

Storybrooke has been quiet for decades. It's been the same small, peaceful town for all that time. No one changing. Nothing happening. Just the same day every day for almost thirty years. That wears on a person after so long, and Regina finds herself welcoming the excitement brought on by the blonde. While everyone else is blissfully unaware of the loop they live in, Regina knows it. She feels it. Hell, she created it, and it is just so damn dull. Never would she have ever thought that the curse she made to give herself a happy ending would turn out to be such a bore. Emma Swan makes her blood pump. She makes her heart beat faster, and her breath huff in anticipation. She thrills her like nothing and no one had in years. Perhaps ever.

It's too late to find a babysitter, so Regina must bring Henry along with her to the hospital. Even though Graham had assured her that it was not so big of an emergency that she needed to rush, Regina speeds to the hospital, fingers coiled tightly around her steering wheel and jaw tight. When they come to a squealing stop in the parking lot, she looks over at Henry.

"You're going to be on your best behavior, correct?" she quizzes him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, Mom. I'm not a little kid, you know. I know how to behave."

She smiles. "I know you do, but you're still my little prince. You always will be." His cheeks bloom bright red as he scowls back at her.

"I'm not a baby, Mom."

"Of course, you aren't, dear. Come on now."

The two of them file out of the car and make their way quickly inside the emergency room. Regina cuts down a long hallway until she finds Graham standing outside of a room, waiting for her.

"What's going on?" she demands in her very best authoritative Mayor voice. "What's happened?"

Graham turns to her with wide eyes. "Madame Mayor, you're here. Thank God. We've got a situation." He nods inside the room, and she looks. What she sees makes her breath catch and her heart stop. "John Doe's gone missing."

Regina's eyes widen at the empty bed where a shepherd king should've been lying comatose.

* * *

Everything hurts. She feels like she's had the fucking shit beat out of her. Which, of course, she had. Emma staggers down the street, head pounding, and vision blurred slightly from the pain. According to her watch, she blacked out in a back alley for a good half hour before coming to again. Irving was gone, of course. Disappeared yet again. Her jaw clenches as she wipes a drop of blood from the gash on her head. She can't wait to repay that asshole for all the trouble he's caused her.

There's a rustling coming from the tree line beside her, and she glances over at it. The dark forest looms back at her, lit unnervingly by moonlight. Probably just a rabbit or something.

A low growl gurgles from her stomach, accompanied by a sharp pain, and Emma rests her hand on her abdomen with a grimace. Only she would wake up from getting the hell beat out of her and be hungry. Man, a big, greasy cheeseburger would be nice right about then. Fries. Soda. Maybe some hot cocoa for dessert. Oh, man. That would be amazing. She hopes with everything in her that Granny hasn't closed yet.

A groan comes from the forest, and Emma is certain that it's human. She wonders a moment if maybe she made the sound subconsciously in her hunger, but when another follows behind it, she knows it isn't her. Stopping, she turns towards the forest and stares intently at it, trying to make out a form or movement among the darkness. More rustling, and it is definitely moving closer to her. Shit, what if it's Irving again? Come back to finish her off? She is in no shape for a fight, and she knows it. Maybe she could outrun him, though she doubts it. Her rib feels broken, and her head is bleeding more heavily. She barely has the energy to remain standing, much less run.

Shadows move closer, and she is about to bolt. Just then, a figure tumbles out of the forest into the grass face first with a moan. Frowning, Emma wonders if she should just run. But that's not Irving. She can tell that much, even in the darkness. He needs help, and while she is in no condition to give any then, she can at least get him to someone who can. So, she takes a small step towards the man.

"Um, hello?" she says uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

There is no response, and she considers once again just walking away. But no. She can't. It's not in her to abandon someone, even a stranger, in need. She knows that feeling all too well, and she won't do it to someone else. So, she moves to his side.

The first thing she notices is that he is wearing a hospital gown. Well, that's not good. Hoisting him up with a grunt, she gets a good look at his face. He is a handsome man, probably only a few years older than her, with dark, honey blonde hair. There's a trickle of blood falling from a cut on his cheek, probably from when he fell. Emma can't place it, but there's something about the man that she feels like she recognizes. Like she's seen him before a long time ago. But that's not possible.

He is unconscious, only making low moaning sounds as she lifts him up off the ground. He's heavy, but she loops his arm over her shoulders and wraps her own around his waist. His feet drag the ground as she limps along with him, face contorted in determination and pain.

"It's alright," she mutters to him as she moves in the direction for the hospital. "You're going to be fine. We're going to get you somewhere safe."

About halfway to their destination, the rain begins, and it is fucking freezing. Emma's teeth grind as she trudges forward anyway, refusing to stop because if she does, she doesn't think she'll have the strength to start on again. She pushes through the burning pain in her chest and the blinding stinging in her head. Her body shivers uncontrollably in the cold, and both hers and the man's skin have turned a pale shade of gray. They're both soaked to the bone, and she must continually shift her hold on him to keep from slipping.

When she rounds a corner and the hospital comes in sight, she sighs a breath of relief. Never has she ever felt so happy to see the place. Summoning all her remaining will, she quickens her pace towards the building, those god-awful sterile lights a hopeful beacon in the midst of the tumultuous storm. The doors slide open at her arrival, and she staggers inside.

"Emma!" The small voice makes her look up, and she sees Henry staring at her with wide eyes. The two people beside him, their backs to her, stiffen at his declaration and spin around. Burning brown eyes land on her, and she feels her knees tremble beneath her.

"You found him," Graham says, racing to her side and taking the man from her. Thankful for the loss of the extra weight, Emma tries to steady herself.

"What happened to you?" Regina is by her side in a moment, looking over her with concern. Seeing how weak the blonde is, she places her hands on her shoulders firmly and keeps her standing. "Nurse, we need help!"

"I'm fine." Emma tries to say it with conviction, but it comes out more as a whimper much to her dismay.

"Shut up," Regina tells her sharply, but her voice is tagged with worry. "You're not alright. What happened to you?"

"Found Irving," she mumbles, and the brunette's eyes widen. "He caught me by surprise. He, um, wasn't happy to see me."

Because Regina insists, and she is too tired to fight her, Emma allows herself to be led back to a room. The doctor, the same one she saw before, gives her head a once-over, concluding that the wound is nasty but nothing that will not heal in time, and then takes a look at her ribs. An x-ray reveals that none are broken, but there is a fair amount of bruising. One look at her bare abdomen makes both Emma and the doctor grimace. A large, dark splotch of black and blue and red already covers the skin nastily.

"Well, nothing's broken," Dr. Whale tells her as he observes the x-ray. "Just a severe rib contusion. We won't need to bandage anything, but it's going to hurt for a week or two. I can prescribe you something to help with the pain, but you're going to want to take it easy until it heals."

"I doubt I'm going to be running any marathons anytime soon," Emma sighs, wincing as she stretches her arms. "What about the other guy?"

He frowns. "I can't disclose any information about other patients, Miss Swan."

"I just carried the guy here a couple miles in the pouring rain." She gives him an annoyed look. "Can you just tell me if he is alright or not?"

He purses his lips. "He'll make it, yes. He's still unconscious right now, but he shows signs of waking soon." He gives her a small smile. "You did a very good thing tonight, Miss Swan. Saved a man's life. You should feel proud."

"Mostly, I just feel sore."

"Emma!" Mary Margaret Blanchard rushes into the hospital room with Henry following along behind her. "You're alright—I was so worried when I heard you were back in here."

"You looked really bad before," Henry says in a small voice, head bent slightly. "I was scared."

"Hey, I'm fine," Emma assures them both as a warmth rises in her chest. She's never known this feeling before. The feeling that people might actually care what happens to her. "Just a little bruised and beat up."

"Your head." Mary Margaret reaches out and presses her fingertips to the bandage there covering a nasty cut, and Emma feels herself sigh. And it's strange because it's nice. Emma has never felt a touch like that before, has never experienced such gentle care directed at her, has never allowed it, and she savors it a moment. Then, something clicks in both their eyes, and Mary Margaret pulls back slowly.

Dr. Whale, seeing the exchange between them, moves for the door. "I'll give you all some privacy. Emma, you're free to go—I'll fill out an order for some painkillers, and you can pick them up on your way out."

"Thank you, Dr. Whale." He leaves, and she looks back to the two in front of her.

"What happened?" Mary Margaret asks her.

"You know the guy I've been looking for?" the blonde says, and they both nod. "Well, I found him. Or he found me, I guess. Snuck up on me in an alley and, uh, sent me a message, I guess." Mary Margaret gasps, the same hand that had just brushed against Emma's skin covering her mouth. "It's alright, though. Nothing's broken. Just bruised." She looks down at Henry. "Where's your mom, kid?"

"She and Graham are looking after the man you brought back right now," he answers. "Mom is his emergency contact because there was no one else to call."

Emma furrows her brow. "No one else? Where's his family?"

"He's a John Doe," Mary Margaret informs. "He's been here for as long as I can remember in a coma. Never showed any signs of waking… until now. I've stayed with him so many times in the past, talking to him, trying to get him to respond. I wonder what woke him now."

"You saved him, Emma." Henry grins at the blonde while she looks down at him in surprise. "I told you that you were a hero."

"I just helped out someone in need," she shrugs as her cheeks warm. "That doesn't make me a hero."

"Maybe not, but it does make you a good person," Mary Margaret supplies warmly, and Emma ducks her head as her face burns hotter, a small smile playing at her lips.

A few minutes later, Emma is up and walking down the hallway, stretching the cramps out of her long, sinewy legs out. Henry and Mary Margaret follow along beside her, the short-haired woman fussing worriedly that Emma shouldn't overexert herself.

"He just said to take it easy, Mary Margaret," Emma says to her. "That means no running, jumping, and, like, exercising. I can walk without killing myself, I swear."

They reach the end of the hallway, and Regina is arguing with Graham and a nurse, demanding to know how John Doe was allowed to escape. In the room beyond them, encased with windows, the man lies in bed, eyes closed, and hands clasped over his chest in tranquility.

"Is there no security in this hospital?" the mayor is shouting at the unfortunate pair, both of whom—even tall, lean Graham—are shrinking under her verbal assault. "No one watching all the exits? Can anyone just escape?" The nurse opens her mouth to answer, but Regina doesn't give her the chance before spinning on the sheriff. "And you! What were you doing anyway? I told you to find him immediately. And do you? No, of course not. You couldn't even find one man who's been comatose for years! Too busy doodling Emma Swan's name in your diary like a lovesick idiot, no doubt. What kind of a Sheriff are you?"

"Whoa." Emma had meant it to only be a thought, but the remark passed over her lips anyway. They all turned to look back at her. Her eyes swiveled from Regina to Graham while her ears burned. "Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to, um, eavesdrop?" Was it eavesdropping, though, if Regina was screaming in the middle of a public place? "I just wanted to check on John Doe."

"Emma. How are you?" Regina asks, taking a step closer to her. Her arm begins to reach out to her but freezes halfway there awkwardly. "I was just about to come and check on you."

"I'm fine," she shrugs. "Minor head wound and some bruised ribs. Nothing major." She nods to the sleeping man in the room before them. "What about him?"

"He should be fine," Graham replies, and Regina's eyes dart back to him as her lip curls in distaste. "Dr. Whale says he doesn't appear to have regressed back into his comatose state, that he's just sleeping. He should wake soon, but it's still a fragile situation. One wrong move, and he could regress or even die."

Emma moves to the glass, resting a palm against it as she stares in at the man curiously. "So, nobody knows who this man? Nobody has come to check on him? Family? Friends?"

"No," Regina shakes her head. "No one has even called about him. We know nothing about him."

Something pulls sharply in Emma's stomach, and the corners of her lips pull downward tightly. Found on the side of the road alone. No family. No friends. Helpless. Without even a full name. Familiar story.

"Would it be okay if I…?" she nods her head towards the door of the room as every brow in the room is pinched. "I'd just like to, y'know, see him not in the pouring rain."

"Of course," Regina answers, arms folding in front of her. "Go ahead."

Stepping forward, Emma pushes the door forward and moves hesitantly in the room. She hadn't really thought through why she wanted to go in. She didn't even know the man. All she knew was that something had drawn her in. Something she couldn't explain. Now that she's inside, though, she feels like the air is thinner. Like the walls are closing in at a gradual pace. Like she might not ever leave. The beeping from a heart monitor machine echoes in her head, and she keeps her eyes trained on the man's face. Slowly, she inches to his bedside.

"Um… hi," she says to a stranger who can't hear her. "I, er, I'm Emma Swan. Never got to formally introduce myself to you before." She rubs her arm uncomfortably as she stares down at him, and she can't help but wonder if this might not be her one day. Lying in a hospital somewhere, unresponsive with no one to call. No one to care whether she lives or dies. She swallows hard. "I just wanted to say, y'know, that I hope you'll be okay. I know what it's like to not have anyone rooting for you, and it sucks. So, just so you know, I am. I'm on your side, so, uh, don't die." Her fingertips brush lightly over the back of his hand. "Don't die, okay?"

There is no answer, and she sighs heavily. Turning, she walks back out of the hospital room to the others. Mary Margaret, in her concern for a woman who is really a total stranger to her, insists that Emma spend the night in her guest bedroom. She claims it wouldn't be safe for Emma to sleep alone in case something bad were to happen. Her ribs are fragile now and could fracture much easier than normal. Or her head wound could re-open, or she could have internal bleeding. The pixie-haired woman came up with a million and one excuses, but Emma really didn't need any to agree to go with her for the night. Her mind continually flashed back to the feeling of her hand on her head, of that soft feeling. The realization that she might not be as alone as she'd thought. So, she leaves with the schoolteacher, who makes her soup and hot cocoa back at her loft apartment, and crashes on a bed much more comfortable than her own for the night.

A few hours after his hospital room empties, John Doe groans and stirs in bed. Chest heaving, his eyes flash open Charming-blue, and he bolts upright with a gasp.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: So, it's been a minute. Sorry about that. I'd offer up a bunch of excuses, but I have none. Please accept this long-ass chapter as my apology._

* * *

It's five o'clock in the morning, and Regina can't sleep, though not for lack of trying. She lies in her bed, the room around her cast in dark shadows, with her eyes trained on the ceiling. She has spent the last however many hours—she lost count a while ago—tossing and turning, groaning in frustration as rest evades her continually. She would like to think that it is only the after effects of the excitement of the evening. Of the adrenaline. She tries to convince herself that it's due to nothing more than her burdened mind.

She knows better, though.

Even with the anxiety and confusion of the awakened Prince Charming—seriously, how is that idiot up and moving? —she knows that isn't the cause of her sleepless night. The image of a rain-soaked and bleeding Emma Swan standing in the hospital lobby, her complexion ashen and her eyes dim, flashes constantly through her mind. She can't forget the feeling that seeing the blonde like that elicited. The dread. The concern. The absolute, gut-wrenching terror. Regina doesn't know how it is possible. She doesn't care for other people. Her compassion, her care extends only to herself and Henry. The rest of the people in that town could all disappear tomorrow, and she wouldn't care. Yet she feels such a strong pull to Emma Swan. A connection even. It doesn't make sense to her. She doesn't even know the woman, for God's sake. And yet…

"This is ridiculous," she huffs to herself angrily, throwing the covers off herself. The sun will soon rise, and she abandons all ideas of sleep for the night. Wrenching her pajamas off, she moves to her connected bathroom and turns the shower on. She'll go and check on the stupid woman later in the day after that exasperating schoolteacher is gone. Make sure she's recovering. It's the polite thing to do, after all. Then, once her mind is set at ease, she intends to tell Emma Swan she has long ago worn out her welcome in her town. It's time that pretty nuisance drive right the hell back out of her life.

Regina freezes as she steps into the shower, feeling the hot water beat down on her bare skin. Her eyes, glued to the tile, widen.

 _Pretty?_

* * *

The first thing Regina hears when she approaches the apartment is the heavy thumping of bass. She frowns at it. Obnoxiously loud music seeps out from the cracks under the door, practically rattling the floor. _Well, Emma must be feeling better if she's listening to music._ She lifts her hand to knock when she hears a voice yell over the music.

"Emma, please get down from there!" Again, Regina frowns. Mary Margaret? It's nine o'clock in the morning. Shouldn't she be at work? "Emma—stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"

The idea of the blonde woman being injured for the third time spurs Regina forward, her hand clasping the doorknob and, upon finding it unlocked, throwing it open. What she finds inside makes her freeze instantly.

The music is even louder and worse than before, booming out of a stereo on the kitchen island. Mary Margaret stands in the living room, her face a mask of stress and worry. It only takes Regina a moment to see why. Standing on top of the dining table rather precariously is Emma Swan. She wears nothing but a loose-fitting tee shirt and cotton boy shorts, showing off long, well-built legs as well as a taut midriff. Her tawny-blonde hair hangs in front of her face in shimmering curls, and her head rocks from side-to-side along with the beat of the music. She has her eyes closed, totally immersed in the song blaring from the stereo.

Regina can't speak for gawking at this exquisite display.

Mary Margaret turns, and her eyes widen at the mayor. "Madame Mayor? What are you doing here?"

Emma's eyes snap open, revealing jade green and dilated pupils that can't quite focus. She sees Regina, and a lopsided smile forms on her lips.

"Hey!" she shouts over the music. "It's you!" She clambers to get off the table and greet Regina, nearly falling twice. Mary Margaret struggles to get her down before hurriedly turning the music off at last.

"What is going on here?" Regina finally manages to ask.

"I'm having a dance party," Emma informs her as she staggers forward. "Dance parties are the best!"

"Is she _drunk_?" Regina turns on Mary Margaret with eyes that flash menacingly.

"What? No!" the pixie-haired woman exclaims, raising her hands defensively. "I would never let her drink while injured. It's the pain medication Dr. Whale gave her. She's reacting to them rather… extremely. I had to call in at work to look after her—obviously, she shouldn't be left alone right now"

Long, pale arms drape over Regina's shoulders, and a face buries itself in her hair. The two lucid women in the room stiffen in shock while Emma only leans further into the mayor with a sloppy smile.

"You smell really good," she murmurs. "Did you come to see me?"

It takes much longer than it should for Regina to find her voice. "I, uh… Yes, I did. I wanted to check and see if you were being taken care of." She shoots Mary Margaret a glare. "I see now that I was right to come."

"She's difficult to contain." Mary Margaret plants her hands firmly on her hips in defiance, and there's a fire in her green eyes that Regina hasn't seen for a very long time. She knows she should be upset and worried at the aspect of the schoolteacher's true self emerging from a curse-induced fog, but it is honestly exciting. She can't believe it, but a part of Regina actually misses the annoying spunk of Snow White.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room." Emma draws herself forward, turning to Mary Margaret. There is still a smile on her lips, and her eyes brighten after a moment. "You know what I want right now? Cookies! Do you have any cookies, MM?"

"MM?" Regina furrows her brow. Since when are these two so friendly?

"Yeah, I think there are some Chips Ahoy in the cabinet." Mary Margaret wrings her hands as the unsteady blonde breezes past her into the kitchen.

"Ugh. Not the sucky, pre-made ones. I want to make cookies. Hot, melt-in-your mouth peanut butter cookies." Emma moans at the thought as she raids the fridge, and the sound alone makes Regina's body tighten.

"Emma, you probably shouldn't be working a stove in your condition," Mary Margaret remarks. Her desire to care for the blonde is rivaled by her uncertainty as to how to do it. The woman is like a hyperactive firework on steroids, and Mary Margaret has no idea how to contain her. "Maybe I should…"

"You should go to work, Miss Blanchard," Regina states plainly, and the other two women both spin to look at her. "I can look after Miss Swan for the day."

"What?" Mary Margaret furrows her brow in confusion. "You want to take care of Emma?"

"Well, you're not doing a satisfactory job of it," Regina bites back, arms crossing over her chest. "Besides, what will Storybrooke Elementary do without its star teacher for the day?" Her voice drips with sarcasm and disdain.

Mary Margaret frowns, an irritated look crossing her face. "I don't—"

"Yes!" Emma cries, throwing her hands up in the air, and they both look to her. "Yes, I want to hang out with Regina!"

"You do?" Mary Margaret can say with the utmost confidence that she has never been so confused in her life.

"Absolutely! Go to work, MM. I got this."

Still unsure, Mary Margaret moves closer to Emma and lowers her voice. "Emma are you certain about this?"

"Yeah," the blonde nods with a comical amount of gusto. "I want Regina to stay."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding? Look at her—she's fucking hot." Mary Margaret nearly chokes, but judging by how unaffected Regina is, she knows she gratefully didn't hear Emma. "Like I'm going to turn down a chance to hang out with a woman like that. Not even I'm that stupid."

"You are not reassuring me at all, Emma."

With a sigh, Emma places her hands on the short-haired woman's shoulders and smiles lazily. Despite trying to seem as sober as possible, her words run together and slur in places still. "I'll be fine. I swear. You need to go to work. Those kids are going to miss you." Without warning, she hugs Mary Margaret, who is stunned. In the small amount of time she has known Emma Swan, she has been able to deduce that the woman is not very affection and certainly not a hugger. Not typically, of course. "You put up with me, like, all night. Go get some coffee, take some time to yourself, and go in late to work. I promise I'll be a good girl."

Mary Margaret pulls back to eye Emma. "You're sure you'll be alright?"

Emma holds her hand up. "Scout's honor."

"You were a girl scout?"

"For two days. They kicked me out when I ate all the cookies instead of selling them. Speaking of—cookies! Where are they, woman?"

With a sigh and a chuckle, Mary Margaret pulls the cookie dough out of the back of the fridge before gathering her purse and heading for the door. "Alright. I'll be back this afternoon. Call me if you need me, Emma." The blonde muffles out an "okay" through a mouthful of raw cookie dough. Mary Margaret looks to Regina with dark, serious eyes and feels a protectiveness surge through her. "Don't let her kill herself."

The mayor scoffs indignantly. "I know very well how to care for someone. I have raised a child successfully for the past ten years." Her lips pull in a tight line. "Leave, Miss Blanchard."

Swallowing her anger at being dismissed from her own home, Mary Margaret calls out another bye to Emma, who returns it with a bright-eyed grin, before leaving the apartment reluctantly.

"God, she's insufferable," Regina huffs, dropping her own purse on the sofa with a muted thump.

"She's not so bad," Emma shrugs as she struggles to slice the roll of cookie dough. Spying the sharp knife in her hands, Regina rushes over and takes it from her. Abandoning her efforts without a fight, Emma lifts herself up on the kitchen counter and sits with her palms pressed against the wood top. "A little fussy and overprotective, yeah, but I don't mind too much." She smiles down at Regina as the brunette shapes the cookies and places them delicately on a sheet pan. "It feels nice to have someone want to look after me. Never got that much when it counted." She pauses thoughtfully a moment. "Y'know, it's weird. MM's, like, the same age as me, but she feels older. Way more mature."

"Well, it doesn't take much to be more mature than you, dear," Regina says absentmindedly.

Emma chuckles. "Yeah, you're right about that." For a moment, they are silent as Regina places the pan in the oven and sets it. "It's way too quiet in here." Dropping down from the counter, she canters to the stereo.

Regina looks up with a frown. "Please, not that noise again."

"Not noise." Emma smiles before turning the volume down a few notches and selecting one of her favorite songs. "Music." She sways along to the sounds that ease out of the stereo softly, a content smile on her lips.

The mayor is surprised to find that she finds the song to be not only tolerable but enjoyable. "Who is this?"

"You really don't know? It's Billie Holiday," Emma replies as she drifts into the kitchen, eyes closed as she dances and spins on her socked feet. Regina can't help a smile of her own at the carefree woman bared so innocently before her. Tumbling curls bouncing with every movement, she is truly beautiful. "She's classic."

"It is nice," Regina acknowledges. "Much better than whatever you were playing before."

"That was party music. This is music you fall in love to."

Regina stiffens at the comment, but when Emma only continues to pad around the living room, she relaxes. Clearly, the blonde meant nothing by it. It is foolish for Regina to assume she had. After all, they'd only just met, and Regina is making leaps and bounds that should never be made. Especially by her. Especially about her.

 _Jesus. Get a hold of yourself._

"You look really pretty today." The words jerk Regina back into the present, and she looks up in alarm. Emma stands in the middle of the living room, watching her with a smile on her lips. Her green eyes sparkle tenderly, and something in Regina's chest tightens at all that warmth directed at her. "I mean, honestly, you look really pretty all the time. I don't know how you do it. The first time I saw you—I almost fell on the floor."

Regaining some of her confidence, Regina quirks an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Yeah, I did. You always look perfect—like you just walked out of a professional spa or something. But it's also so effortless, too. Like, you're just naturally radiant." The honest admission makes Regina gasp for two reasons. One, she can tell how much Emma means it. How true it is. Two, it is so refreshingly easy. The blonde says it like she's commenting on the weather. Like she is saying the sky is blue, or the sun is shining. There are no walls. Nothing held back. No shame. No embarrassment. The admiration glowing on Emma's face is undeniable, and it does something to Regina. Something that she hasn't felt in so very long.

She clears her throat after too long a time spent lost in green irises. "Well, thank you, dear." She hesitates before risking another word. "You're quite stunning as well."

Emma snorts. "Me? Yeah, right." Regina frowns as the blonde shakes her head. "I'm just normal, y'know? Average, every day, kind-of-cute-but-nothing-to-get-excited-over."

Regina's feet carry her closer to the woman without her permission, and before she knows it, her hand is squeezing Emma's shoulder. "Don't ever say that about yourself. You're beautiful." Emma's cheeks flush, bringing the freckles dusting her skin out, and Regina smiles softly as she combs thick curls back from that burning red face. "There is nothing average about you in the slightest."

Since when does she allow herself to say and do these things? Since when does she get so soft and gentle around anyone but Henry? It doesn't make sense even to her, but Regina cannot make herself stop.

Emma gulps, and her eyes glance downward before returning to Regina's. "I just realized something."

Regina hums. "What's that, dear?"

"I'm not wearing any pants." The blunt statement causes the mayor to break out into laughter, and Emma joins her in moments. They both drop their chins, and their foreheads brush. Suddenly, all laughter comes to a jolting halt, and all either woman is aware of is the sound of the other's breathing. Slowly, their heads raise, and they make searing eye contact. Emma begins to lean forward.

"You… We shouldn't," Regina breathes. "You're not well… the medicine—"

"Is starting to wear off," Emma finishes with a faint smile. "And, trust me, it isn't the painkillers making me want to do this." She closes the space between them but presses her lips to Regina's cheek rather than her mouth. "I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you."

Regina gasps and turns her head abruptly. Red lips clash with pink in a bruising kiss, and there is no stopping it now. Regina screams at her lips to stop, but they refuse. She begs her hands not to tangle themselves in long, soft curls, but they don't listen. And she pleads so very hard with her heart to stop its erratic beating, but it is to no avail. Because Regina knows that, if she is honest with herself, she doesn't want this to end. Ever.

It is Emma who breaks away first, and Regina fears that it is too much. That the blonde will realize what an enormous mistake this is and run as fast as she can. Deep down, Regina knows that would probably be for the best, but, God, she doesn't want it. She wants Emma. She wants the feeling of passion and excitement the woman stirs within her. The warmth and the tenderness. She hasn't felt the touch of a willing lover in so long, and it's all she craves.

Emma looks at Regina, and she smiles. "Well. That was only about a million times better than I imagined." Her hand lifts and cups Regina's cheek, and the brunette cannot stop herself from melting further into the gentle touch, eyes closing. "I've got to go."

Her eyes snap back open. This is it. She's coming to her senses, and she's going to leave town. Leave Regina with nothing more than a kiss. A kiss that will haunt her day and night, because, God, she's never felt anything like this before. "What?" Regina hates how choked her voice is.

But Emma only smiles wider. "I've got to go to the stove. The cookies are done."

"I don't really care about those cookies, dear," Regina says, pulling Emma back to her. Her lips hover over pale, pink ones, close enough for their breath to mingle but not to touch. "I'd much rather just have you."

"Wow. Okay, that's hot." Regina grins widely at Emma's wide eyes. "You make it really hard for a girl to stop."

"Then don't."

"No, we have to. I really want those cookies, and we should probably talk this through a little."

Regina's face falls. "You want to talk?"

"I want to rip those clothes off of you and lick every inch of you." Regina shivers at the image. "But I feel like if we don't slow down a little bit, we'll end up regretting it." She smiles before pecking Regina's lips once more. "So, please, go sit down on the sofa. I'll get the cookies, and we can talk a little bit. Okay?"

Regina sighs and mopes to the sofa. "Fine."

"Don't pout. You know I'm right." Emma moves to the kitchen, opening the stove and retrieving the pan of cookies. Regina steals glances at her over the top of the sofa. She rubs her hands over her thighs, unable to keep them still, and squirms at the uncomfortable longing between her legs. Though she knows it's only been a few minutes, it feels to Regina like Emma has been gone for far too long before she settles down beside her on the sofa with a plate of still-steaming peanut butter cookies in hand.

Emma picks up one cookie and takes a bite, humming at the taste. Regina watches her closely, subconsciously licking her own lips at the sight. Emma sees her and smiles widely before holding the cookie out. Extending her neck, Regina takes a slow bite, holding eye contact with Emma as she does, and chews leisurely. Emma swallows, and her suddenly very-dry throat aches.

"Mm," Regina purrs as she swallows. "Delicious."

"You just made what I have to say a whole lot harder," Emma sighs. "I'm not having sex with you today." The brunette frowns, straightening her back rigidly. "Wait. Before you get pissed at me, let me explain. I'm not saying that because I don't want to sleep with you—because I do. Like, a lot. I cannot stress enough to you how much I want to fuck you. And that's kind of why I also want to wait. I just don't want to rush into this, Regina. I think we should be smart about it. I mean, you've got a kid. I'm… well, I'm unattached, but I'm just now settling down in this town. I just think maybe we should get to know one another first. I mean, I like you a lot, and I don't want to repeat past mistakes I've made in relationships. I'd like to do better with. You deserve that much." She clasps her hands nervously. "So, uh, what do you think?"

Regina pauses, rolling Emma's words over and over in her head. She'd said she likes her. She'd said Regina deserves something more than a noncommittal relationship. Those are things no one has ever told her. Again, a feeling rises in her chest that she almost forgot exists. Slowly, her lips pull into a smile. "I think that you are very, very sweet. And you're right. There are factors to consider, and we'd be smart to approach this whole thing carefully." She swallows. "And… I think that I like you a lot, too." Emma beams. "And I'm leaving now."

The blonde frowns as Regina stands and heads for the door before bounding after her. "Wait! Why are you leaving? I thought you agreed with me?"

"I do. That's why I'm leaving. If we aren't going to be having sex, you cannot possibly expect me to sit here and watch you eat cookies in your underwear."

Emma's bottom lip sticks out. "But you're supposed to take care of me. I'm still pretty loopy from the drugs—there's no telling what I'll do if you're not here with me."

Regina smiles, opening the door. "Nice try, dear, but the drugs have clearly worn off enough for you to function on your own." She kisses Emma's lips, lingering a few seconds before walking out the door. "Have a wonderful day, Miss Swan."

The door closes behind her, and Regina hears the blonde's head thump against it as a groan whines its way out of her chest. A smirk forms on her lips as she descends the stairway. Emma might be right about them needing to take things slowly, but Regina will be damned if she doesn't make it as hard as possible for her to resist.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: So... this is an egregiously late update, and for that I apologize profusely. It was never and is still not my intention to leave this story unfinished. With Worlds Apart finished, I will be spending much more time on this. It's... taking a turn that I didn't expect. You'll find that, compared to the rest of the story, this chapter gets pretty dark. Don't ask me where it came from-I've got no clue. I don't know how it came about, but I kind of like it. I hope you do as well. Currently, I'm working on the next chapter and as soon as I'm satisfied with it, I'll post it. So, please accept two chapters in one day as an olive branch for not posting in so long. :)_

* * *

When Emma walks into Granny's Diner, a slight limp in her step, she can't stop a wince. It's been three days since she's left Mary Margaret's apartment. Since she's left bed, really. She had hoped her body would quickly heal itself, but it had gotten worse before it had gotten better. She'd been taking the painkillers like candy, but she decided this morning not to take any. She feels a bit better than before, and she doesn't want to be looped-out anymore. Well, she _was_ feeling better before she decided to take a stroll to the diner for lunch. The short walk had affected her far more than she cares to admit.

"Emma." Ruby steps up to her with a smile. "Hey. Long time, no see. How are you feeling?"

"Great." Emma tries to sound convincing, but her voice is cracked, and her smile comes out more as a grimace. Ruby gives her a sympathetic look. "Can I get, like, a deluxe hot chocolate? The biggest cup you've got with an obscene amount of whipped cream and cinnamon on top?"

"Of course," the waitress nods. "Sit down. Relax a second. You look like you're going to pass out."

"Thanks, Rubes." Emma carries her tired, aching body to the far corner booth and drops down in it with a sigh. Leaning back, she throws her head back and closes her eyes. She just wants to will the pain away. To mind-over-matter that shit until it's gone.

The bell over the front door rings out, and Emma ignores it. Or, at least, she does until she hears a very distinct, very sensual voice. Her head shoots up, eyes wide open, and she watches as Regina Mills enters the diner wearing one of her fantastic mayor ensembles. A pantsuit that clings in all the right ways, and, God, wouldn't Emma love to tear that thing off the immaculate woman? Emma is so caught up in her reverence of the mayor's beauty that she doesn't notice the person with Regina for a moment. A small, dark-skinned man moves alongside Regina, sitting down across from her at a table across the diner from Emma. And Emma doesn't like him. Not at all. Something in the way he looks at Regina. The devotion in his eyes. The sniveling desperation in his deep voice that carries well throughout the diner. Emma doesn't like it at all.

In her tucked-away booth, Emma goes unnoticed by both people, and so she watches their correspondence a moment. Clearly, the man across from Regina is infatuated with her. Pathetically so. However, much to Emma's relief, the mayor doesn't seem to reciprocate those feelings. She speaks with the man, and she smiles, but there is clear disinterest in her eyes. In those glimmering, fire-like eyes. Emma's gaze falls to red, puckered lips that she knows are soft and wonderful. To the scar that she had run her tongue over. To the neck she wants nothing more but to press her mouth to and suck until a darkening bruise appears.

Yes, Emma knows personally how the mayor looks at someone she wants to be with, and that is certainly not how she looks at the man across from her now.

From her pocket, Emma's phone rings, and she retrieves it with her eyes still absorbing every inch of Regina's face. She doesn't even check the caller ID when she answers the call.

"Yeah?" she says softly into the phone.

"What you mean 'yeah?'" Barry's voice shouts on the other end, ripping her immediately from her fantasy, and Emma slumps over the table, one hand buried in her hair to prop her limp head up. "You don't call me for days—a whole week. No updates. No information. No nothing. What the hell, Emma?"

"I've just been busy," Emma sighs into the phone line. "Really busy."

"You found this guy yet?"

"No, I haven't got him yet."

"Alright. That's enough of this. You come back home—forget Bradley Irving."

Emma's eyes widen, and her voice comes out in a growl. "No."

"'No?' Emma, you been gone weeks now. You come back. We got other hits."

"I'm not giving up and going back to Boston with my tail tucked between my legs. This fucker has sent me to the hospital twice—I am not letting him off."

"He what? He sent you to the hospital? What the fuck?"

Emma shakes her head, cursing herself for mentioning that. "Nothing. Neither of them was a big deal. Point is, I'm not going anywhere, Barry."

"Look, kid, I get it." There's something like pity in Barry's voice, and it leaves Emma confused and a little pissed off. She fucking hates pity. "I did some digging on where you are, and I… I get it. Why you don't want to leave. I'd probably be the same way."

Emma narrows her eyes. "What are you talking about, Barry?"

"I know, Emma. I know that you were found as a baby in the woods outside the town." Her mouth falls open, eyes growing impossibly wide. "I know what that must be like for you. You probably feel an attachment to the place. Feel like you can get some answers, but, kid, you can't. Your parents aren't there, and, if they were, they probably still wouldn't talk to you. You know it deep down."

"How?" Emma's voice shakes with rage. "How did you know where this town is? How did you find it? It's not on any maps."

Barry was quiet a moment. "Well… I might have had your phone bugged a few years back."

Emma shakes her head, blonde curls tossing back-and-forth in front of her. "Son of a bitch. I don't fucking believe you, Barry."

"I'm sorry, Emma. Just come home, please."

"Home?" Her voice breaks with rage, grief, and devastation. "You want me to come home, Barry? Where is that exactly? Out of all the places I've lived over the past twenty-eight years, which one is home? Is it Boston with you? No. New York? Baltimore? Chicago? Maybe it's Minnesota, huh? Maybe it's in some shitty foster home? I don't know where home is, Barry." She is on her feet because she can't sit anymore. Not with this anger. Not with this pain. "I'm not here trying to find something out about my parents. I didn't even know this was the place where they… where they left me. But if that was why I was staying, you have no fucking right to tell me to leave. To tell me that they wouldn't speak to me. You don't know, Barry. You have no goddamn clue what they'd do. What I'd do. And what the fuck is up with bugging my phone? Since when do we do that? We've known each other years, and you don't trust me still? I'm still just an employee to you?"

"Of course, you aren't, Emma. You're the best tracker I got."

"Funny. I thought maybe we were friends, Barry. Stupid me, right?"

"Emma, please—"

"Fuck you, Barry. I'm done." She hangs the phone up before he can respond and turns it over. Ripping the battery cover off, she looks inside and sees the small, blinking red light tagged to the memory chip. Curling her lip in disgust, Emma grips the phone tight and throws it into the trash can as hard as she can, not even slightly satisfied by the shattering sound.

"Emma?" Ruby stands before her, clear concern in her eyes, and Emma looks at her. "Hey, are you alright?"

Emma sniffs, trying as hard as she can to compose herself. "Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just… Cancel my order, Rubes. I-I have to go."

Ruby nods. "Yeah, sure."

Emma turns to leave, but she is caught by a deep brown tidal wave of emotions. For a brief moment, Emma is trapped in stasis with her hand on the door by Regina's gaze. By the worry there. By the care. And tears begin to swim in green eyes, and Emma can't be there. She can't be seen like that. So, with a blink of her eyes that sends one wet, salty tear down her cheek shamefully, she races out of the diner.

* * *

Regina stares at where the blonde had only just stood, lips parted in shock. She can't think in that moment. Can't look away from the spot where leather boots had been planted. She can't get the image out of her mind. The sight of green eyes, usually glinting with mirth and playfulness, rippling with such an indescribable pain. Such a heart-wrenching grief. The tear that trickled down prominent cheeks and dropped down her chin is burned into Regina's mind.

And she can't shake the inexplicable longing to wipe the tear, the sadness away. To hold the young woman, usually so strong, through the pain. To kiss the sorrow away. To protect her.

"Regina?"

She blinks and looks away from the door to her companion for lunch. Sidney Glass has his brow furrowed curiously at her, and she realizes he must have been speaking to her.

"What?" she says. "I'm sorry, Sidney. I was distracted. What were you saying?"

He smiles at having regained her undivided attention. The man lives for those brown eyes on him alone. "I said that was quite a show. That new woman in town—she's quite the headcase, isn't she?" He chuckles, and he expects for the mayor to join him. She has always appreciated his jokes at the expense of others before.

He is surprised, though.

"Excuse me?" she growls at him, and his face immediately falls, his laughter dying in his throat. Regina's eyes are no longer soft on him, but sharp and pointed like knives, and her lips are curled downward in a furious sneer. Nostrils flare as she glowers at him with enough intensity to murder. "What the hell was that?"

He stammers in a panic, "I-I only meant…"

"You have no clue what she may be going through," Regina stops him harshly. "Obviously, she just received a distressing phone call. You have no idea what that conversation entailed. She could've lost a loved one for all you know, and you have the audacity to laugh over that." Not a family member, though. Regina knows that much. This was something. Something, somehow, worse. "Emma is not a _headcase_ , Sidney. She's far more capable than you would ever dream of being." His mouth falls open in shock.

"E-Emma?" he repeats. "You… know her?"

Regina's back straightens, and she clears her throat uncomfortably. She hadn't had intention of reacting so strongly. She knows how unsettling it must be for Sidney—and all the other diner patrons who heard her rather loud outburst—to see the mayor, who has never shown concern for anyone beyond herself and her son, jump to the defense of a relative stranger. She can feel the waitress's curious gaze on her back, and she wishes she'd kept herself under more control. But she's still shaken from the look in those cool green eyes. The absolute devastation there.

"I apologize, Sidney," Regina says softly. "I didn't mean to jump at you like that. It was unfair of me. I just… I am familiar with Miss Swan, and I know something of her plight." She clasps her fingers. "Please, forgive me."

Sidney's face immediately morphs into that pathetic smile that is so desperate for her attention. The one that makes her teeth grind. God, she'd thought a servant with undying loyalty and devotion would be a good thing—the man is little more than a pest to her, though. Albeit a pest with his uses. "Of course, Regina. I'd never hold a grudge against you."

"Good." She clasps her hands in her lap tightly. "Now, what were you saying before?"

And even though she'd rather race out of the diner to check on Emma Swan, she stays in her seat and continues a meaningless conversation with Sidney about her initiative to build a new town playground being included in the next edition of the newspaper. She stays there and fakes approving smiles and nods because she knows she can't go after the blonde. Not yet. Not so soon after her outburst. She knows it would be a foolish display of sympathy and care, one she can't allow herself to display before the citizens of Storybrooke. No, she must remain the cold, stoic mayor to appease their image of her. To maintain the narrative of the curse. With foolish shepherd princes waking up unexpectedly, she knows she must do everything within her power to ensure that her curse stays intact. Something strange is going on in her town, and she intends to put a stop to it.

* * *

Emma makes her way down the highway, her hands balled into fists and her teeth clenched tight. Her head aches, and there's a shooting pain that runs from her heels up her spinal cord with very step she takes. The pain is intense and makes her nauseous, but even so she refuses to stop. She can't.

She doesn't know where she's going. She has no map or information to lead her. But her gut has never let her down before, and so she follows it along the road towards the Storybrooke town line. Something pulls her along. Intuition, maybe. Or perhaps a memory that she somehow retained, locked away from her until now. She can't explain it, but there is something that guides her along that wet, deserted road.

Barry's voice rings through her head. _Your parents aren't there, and, if they were, they probably still wouldn't talk to you._ She knows it is probably true. She's always known it. It only makes sense. Her parents threw her away when she was only a few minutes old. They didn't want her then. Why the hell would they want her now? They wouldn't. They'd take one look at her, and they'd walk away from her again. They'd tell her how much they didn't want her. How much they would never want her.

But that's not why Emma walks along that road now. That's not why she wonders about her parents. It has never been. Deep down, of course, she has always wished somehow that she could find them, and they would tell her it was all a misunderstanding. That they really did want her. That they'd always wanted her. The child in her still wishes for that, but the adult in her knows it would never happen. Emma might wish upon stars for the impossible, but she doesn't hope for it. She has been let down enough in life to know better than that.

No, she has never sought out her parents in the hopes that they'll love her. She doesn't need their love or their acceptance. She doesn't need them, not anymore. All she needs, all she really wants, is an answer. An explanation. She just wants to know why they left her there in those woods. What she might've done. What she didn't do. If they just didn't want her, they could've taken her to an orphanage or left her on a doorstep somewhere. They could've given her away. Why did they hate her so much that they left her out in the woods to die with nothing more than a baby blanket?

A baby blanket that has always perplexed her. It doesn't add up. The blanket is hand-knitted, painstakingly so, and her name is on it. The purple ribbon was oh-so-carefully woven into it. The blanket was made by someone who cared about her. It is the only thing that makes sense to her. Someone out there had to have loved her, hadn't they? Or at the very least had compassion on her. Who? Her parents? It couldn't be. The same people who abandoned her couldn't be the same people who made that blanket. Grandparents perhaps, then? But where were they? Where had they been when she was alone in the foster system? Her name and picture had been in the papers upon being found—why had no one claimed her? She has never understood it.

She just wants some fucking answers, and that doesn't seem like too much to ask for from the people who left her to die.

Emma crosses the town line without any hesitation and takes four more steps forward before coming to a stop. She faces the woods beside the road, thick and dark. Slowly, exhaling a puff of cold air, she moves towards them. She steps into the cool shade of the tall trees, muddy ground giving way beneath her a bit. She brushes back limbs and carefully steps over vines and roots of trees scarred with age. The deeper she goes, the colder it seems to get. It's quiet, which she finds strange. Even in a peaceful forest, there are always sounds. There are no such things as silent woods. There are animals scurrying around the dirt or in the tree branches. Leaves whispering in the wind. There is life.

But not here. Here, it is quiet. The only sounds she hears are the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs under her own feet. Her breath, shallow from exertion and dread that she can't explain building inside of her. There are no other sounds. No other movements but her own.

Her headache has evolved into a migraine so strong that it blurs her vision. Her skin is drenched in beads of cold sweat. She feels sick, and she thinks she should turn back. She doesn't know these woods. She could so easily get lost in them. And no one knows where she is. She could get lost here and never be found. She could die in these woods alone.

 _Looks like your parents will get what they wanted after all, Swan._

She should turn back while she still can. She should go back to town. No. She should get in her car and leave that place now. Fucking run for her life. She should go somewhere far away. As far as possible. She should never look back. She should forget these woods and her parents. She should forget Storybrooke and its inhabitants. She should.

Because Emma Swan has never felt terror like this before, and she doesn't even know what the fuck she's so afraid of.

Her feet come to an abrupt halt, and she stares down at a thicket of thorns a few feet ahead of her. Growing tall and bushy with a dip in the center, it almost resembles a cradle.

This is the place. She doesn't know how she knows, but she does. Something in her remembers this cold, gray place. She can hear a baby's wail screaming in her ears. She can feel the freezing cold of the night around her. The darkness shrouding around her. _Stop. God. Make it stop. Make it fucking stop._

A flapping sound breaks the strange spell that seems to have fallen over her, and she looks up from the thicket. Perched on a branch just ahead of her is a pitch-black raven. She stares at it, the only other sign of life she's seen in those woods and holds her breath apprehensively. It picks under its wing with its beak before it seems to notice it is not alone. Raising its head, it stares at her with glinting black eyes like stones. Cold and unfeeling. And then it opens its sharp beak.

It begins to caw. No, not caw. It's a shriek. A shrill cry that makes her ears ring. She scrambles to cover them as it continues to screech at her aggressively, but she can't block that sound out. She squeezes her eyes closed and releases a scream of her own because this is a _goddamn_ nightmare, and she can't handle it anymore. She turns, and she begins to run. She doesn't know where. She doesn't care. She could be headed out of the woods, or she could be going deeper into them. She can't know, but she can't stop either. The bird's shrieking follows her, and it sounds like there are more of them now. A whole unkindness of ravens chases after her, and she swears she can feel their beaks yanking at her hair, their talons slicing into her skin. She screams again, and tears fall down her cheeks. She keeps her eyes and head down for fear that they will scratch her eye sockets empty or wrench her tongue from her mouth.

When she breaks out of the woods back to the road, she falls onto her knees in the wet grass and screams with her eyes closed. The ravens are still there. Still cawing at her incessantly. Still clawing and snapping at her. Pulling the skin from her bones and the hair from her head. One lands on her shoulder and pecks at her temple until it breaks through the skin and cracks her skull. Her brains spill out into its insatiable beak.

"Calm down!"

The voice rips her away from the terrifying delusion, and she realizes she's screaming. She opens her eyes, heaving for air and looks around. She's in the grass on the side of the road. There are no ravens. Her skull is still intact. She is fine, other than cuts and scrapes from the tree branches when she fled from the woods. A man kneels before her, his brow furrowed in concern. Dark brown curls are trimmed short on his head while oceanic blue eyes stare at her. His hands gripping her shoulders are the only thing keeping her from falling face first on the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. "What happened?" She stares at him with blurry eyes, lips chapped and throat dry, and he runs one hand over her sweaty forehead. "Shit. You're burning up with a fever. Come on. We've got to get you to a hospital."

"No," she croaks as he tries to coax her up. "No hospital."

"Miss, you're in no condition—"

She looks up at him darkly, and he frowns at how bad she truly does look. Pale, clammy skin. Black circles under her eyes. Chapped lips. She looks like death, and he wonders what the hell happened in those woods. "No hospital."

He can see that she has no intention of giving in, so he nods his head. "Fine. No hospital. But let me at least give you a ride into town." He holds a hand out to her in offer, and she stares at it a moment before accepting it. Helping her to her feet, he loops one of her arms around his shoulders and grips her waist firmly. He leads her towards a big, black motorcycle parked in the middle of the road, and Emma narrows her eyes at him.

"Who are you?" she asks in a tired voice.

He offers her a charming smile, and those too-blue eyes sparkle. "August W. Booth at your service."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: And Chapter 10 slides in under the wire at 11:58 PM. ;)_

* * *

"Thank you for the lunch, Sidney, but I must be getting back to work now." Regina practically shoves her way past the man as she opens the diner door.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to come back to newspaper office with me?" he asks, frantic for just a few more minutes with her. She rolls her eyes, lip curling in disgust. "I could show you the draft for the next issue. I'm sure you'll want to approve of it before I send it to press."

"Not necessary, Sidney. I have confidence that you will do your job as well as usual." God, she just wants to stomp him under her heel like the insect he is, and, if he doesn't leave her alone, she will. The mayor is known for many things, but patience is not one.

"But, Regina, please, I—"

She turns on him angrily. "Sidney, I do not want to hear anymore. I'm sure the paper will be fine. Drop it." He shrinks under her words, and she smirks as she turns back around. Nothing more satisfying than seeing the poor reflection of a man shrivel.

Her smirk falls immediately, though, as she makes her way out of the diner towards the sidewalk. Emma. She needs to find her. She needs to make sure she's alright. With all the times the woman has managed to get herself grievously injured, Regina finds herself unsettled. She is only just recovering from the beating that Irving beast gave her. She can't handle much more abuse like that, and Regina can't handle seeing her like that again. She shudders at just the memory.

As she walks down the sidewalk, she catches sight of Mary Margaret walking ahead of her, most likely on her way back from the hospital on her day off. Regina is well aware that the insipid schoolteacher has been spending more and more time visiting the awake but still hospitalized David Nolan. Their infatuation has grown into something a bit more, despite the arrival of David's wife, Katherine. She hasn't yet found the time to figure out how to stop the budding affair. A certain green-eyed enigma has possessed her thoughts most of the time. Now is no different.

"Miss Blanchard." The pixie-haired woman looks up from where she'd been smiling at her phone, no doubt texting the man she was only just with, with wide, shocked eyes. Regina smiles slightly. Oh, how she adores the flash of fear in those eyes that had once shown defiance towards her.

"R-Regina," Mary Margaret gasps. "Um, I mean Madame Mayor. What… What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you've seen or spoken with Miss Swan recently," Regina asks, hating how she must go to the idiot woman for assistance now.

Mary Margaret frowns. "Not since this morning when I left for the hospital. To volunteer, I mean." She adds the clarification with frantic eyes.

Regina purses her lips. She could care less about the lovesick fool right now. "Yes, of course. You haven't been in contact with her since, though?"

"No. She was good this morning. She felt much better than she has the last few days—she even said she wouldn't be taking any painkillers today. When I left, she was going to take a shower. That's the last I saw or heard from her." Her eyes widen. "Why? She's alright, isn't she? Nothing happened, did it?"

"I'm… not sure." The words don't sit well with the mayor. She is used to knowing everything that goes on in her town. To controlling it all. She doesn't like the feeling of uncertainty, and she has _always_ loathed surprises. "I saw her earlier at the diner, and she was disturbed by a phone call. She left very upset. I want to check after her."

Mary Margaret's brow furrows at the statement. "You… You do?" Since when does the ice queen mayor care enough to check on anyone but Henry? Mary Margaret has been puzzled over this since Regina showed up at her apartment to look after Emma, and she wonders if something has happened between the two to cause this. And she wants to know what it possibly could've been.

Regina frowns and opens her mouth to answer, but she is halted by an obscene sound. A choppy, obnoxious roaring sound that vibrates the ground, and she turns towards it, annoyed and livid. At the sight of the black motorcycle rolling into her town, she grows only angrier. Who would dare to bring one of those deadly eyesores into her quiet town. Her fury is overshadowed, though, by a realization. Another stranger in her town. In a town that isn't supposed to have strangers. What the fuck is going on here?

"Who's that?" Mary Margaret remarks as the motorcycle stops in front of Granny's. A man clad in dark leather sits in the front with a helmet covering his face.

"I don't know," Regina growls. "But I intend to find out."

She begins to march towards him but stops when he stands and reveals a smaller figure seated on the back of the motorcycle seat. She takes in familiar red leather jacket and tight denim. The thick, pale blonde curls spilling out from the helmet. And then he removes the helmet, and she gasps at bloodshot green eyes.

Emma looks around, blinking her eyes uncertainly. She blacked out at some point during their ride back into town. When she sees Granny's, she groans.

"Not here," she whines. "I was just here, and I made a big scene."

August smiles at her. "Hey, you wouldn't let me take you to a doctor. I demand that you eat something. No offense, but you look like hell."

"Fuck you, too," she grumbles, and he only laughs and helps her to her feet. She can't explain it, but she has this weird feeling of déjà vu around August. Like they've met before somewhere. Like maybe they were friends at one point. But that's not possible. She would've remembered him, and he shows no signs of recognizing her, either.

"What's your name anyway?" he asks her. "You never told me before."

She leans against him slightly as her head spins from the effort of standing up. She hates to admit it, but he's right. She needs some food. "It's—"

"Emma!"

Two voices beat her to it, and she looks up with a knit brow at the two brunettes rushing towards her.

Regina reaches her first, taking in her poor state with wide eyes. Emma knows she must really look as bad as she feels.

Mary Margaret races straight up to Emma and envelopes her in a hug while Regina stops stiffly in front of her.

"Emma, oh my God!" she gushes, looking over her friend and taking in every cut on sickly pale skin. There are leaves caught in the younger woman's hair, and even her clothes are ripped in places. Emma looks like she could fall over if a breeze blew by. "What happened to you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, MM," Emma says, blinking uncomfortably at the overwhelming amount of care in dark, forest green eyes. She's not used to that much attention being shown to her injuries. As a kid, even when she'd broken her arm, her foster parents had never shown any amount of concern or care. That was, until the medical bill came back, but that wasn't the kind of attention Emma wanted. "Just a little under the weather."

"Where were you?" Mary Margaret asks.

Regina looks at the man beside Emma who, she notes in annoyance, has his hand on her back still. "Who's this?"

Emma glances over at him. "This is August Booth. I, um, I went for a little stroll in the woods earlier for fresh air and got lost. He found me." She clears her throat. "Thanks for that, by the way. Don't think I've said that yet."

He flashes her that smile again, the lazy one with the laugh lines. "Hey, it was my pleasure. Never got to rescue a damsel in distress before." He throws her a playful wink.

She cuts her eyes at him. "I am not a damsel in distress. Ever."

"Really? You looked pretty distressed from where I was standing." He hopes the joke might lift the blonde's spirits a bit, because he truly is worried after how he found her before.

To his relief, she smiles crookedly, revealing deep dimples. "Keep talking, and you'll be the one in distress, Booth." He laughs.

Regina scoffs at the exchange. "Well, aren't you two just thick as thieves?" She wants to be pissed off, but then Emma looks at her—and she just looks so exhausted. She can see that the smile, the humor is superficial. Something happened. Something bad. Something has Emma, strong and stubborn Emma Swan, literally looking like a ghost. Regina notices only then how hard Emma is shaking.

"We need to get you inside," she says firmly. "You're freezing, and you need food."

"Exactly what I said," August says, but Regina disregards him and Mary Margaret both. Shoving both their hands from the blonde, she instead coils an arm around Emma's waist and escorts her inside. Mary Margaret frowns at the sight in confusion.

"Well, she's a ray of sunshine, isn't she?" August murmurs.

Mary Margaret looks to him. "Oh, don't mind her. The mayor's just a bit prickly." She smiles at him and offers her hand, remembering her manners. "I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard, Emma's friend."

"August Booth, pleased to meet you." The two trail after Emma and Regina.

"I can walk on my own, y'know," Emma remarks as they enter the diner. She cherishes the immediate warmth, sighing in relief.

"No, you can't," Regina says sternly, and Emma imagines it must be the scolding tone she uses on Henry as well. She smirks. "You're too weak even to stand much less walk." The slide into a booth together, and Regina shoots Mary Margaret and August a look the convinces them to hang back and give the two time alone.

Ruby saunters up to them. "Emma, hey. Dude, did you see a ghost or something?"

Emma clears her throat. "Something like that."

"You want that hot cocoa now?"

"Of course not," Regina answers for the blonde. "Miss Lucas, bring her a large bowl of hot chicken soup and some water." She glances over at the blonde. "A grilled cheese sandwich, as well."

Emma sticks her bottom lip out, her eyes round and innocent. "And a hot cocoa, too?"

Regina glowers at her a moment before finally sighing. "I suppose so, yes."

"Awesome!" Emma smiles and looks at the bewildered waitress. No one has ever been able to play the mayor like that except for Henry.

"That will be all, Miss Lucas." Regina's sharp voice snaps her out of her trance.

"Oh, of course. Yeah, I'll have that right out for you." She walks off.

"Thanks, Rubes," Emma says.

Digging through her purse, Regina pulls out her cell phone and dials a number.

"Who ya calling?" the blonde inquires but receives no response.

"Judith? Yes, I need you to reschedule my two o'clock. I won't be able to make it back to the office in time."

Emma frowns. "Hey, no. Don't do that. If you've got somewhere to be, go. I'll be fine, Regina. Seriously."

She is silenced with a finger pressed against her lips. "Well, Judith, if they can't reschedule for the mayor, just cancel the damn meeting. Yes, you can tell them I said so. Thank you." She hangs up the phone and tucks it back in her bag dismissively. "Incompetent."

"You didn't have to do that, y'know," Emma says. "I'm fine. Besides, even if I'm not, August and MM are here. Ruby, too. I'd manage."

"I'd rather you be in capable hands, dear," Regina remarks acerbically, and Emma smiles. Her smile expression falls, however, Regina begins dabbing at the still-bleeding cuts on her face with a napkin.

"Ow! That stings."

"I suppose you should've been careful then, shouldn't you have?" Regina says back unsympathetically, but her touches grow gentler.

Emma grins at her. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Well, if you would stop causing yourself bodily harm, we wouldn't have to meet like this." Regina pauses, looking at her with worried eyes. "Are you okay, Emma?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little shaken up."

"Shaken up?"

"Yeah, I mean, if you'd seen some of the crazy shit I just did, you'd be freaked out, too."

Regina frowns. "What are you talking about? What did you see?"

The blonde swallows. "I-It's nothing." She squirms under prying eyes a few seconds before giving in with a sigh. "I overexerted myself, I guess. I had a fever, and so I had this weird, Hitchcockian hallucination when I was out in the woods. No big deal."

"No big deal? Emma, you could've been out there for God knows how long. You could've frozen or starved to death."

"Good thing August showed up when he did, then."

The brunette's lips pull down in distaste, and she glances over to the bar where Mary Margaret is chatting with the man while Ruby leans over the counter and grins at him, offering up an ample view of her chest. The man, however, has his eyes glued on Emma, which Regina notes with a sneer. "Yes, aren't we so lucky to have Mr. Booth in town?"

Emma smirks at her. "Hey." Brown eyes swivel back to her, softening. "He saved my life. The least you can do is be polite."

"I'm always polite. That doesn't mean I have to be nice, though."

"You don't like him?"

Regina tends to the last open cut on Emma's face. "I don't know him, dear. Therefore, I don't trust him. I'm not sure why you do."

"Maybe because he just picked my screaming, delusional ass up off the side of the road?" The blonde frowns. "It is kind of weird, though. I feel like I know him from somewhere. Like maybe we met a long time ago." She shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't know. Maybe he's just got one of those familiar faces."

Her cuts are all closed, but Regina keeps her hand pressed against her face lightly as she looks her over. "Are you okay, Emma?"

"Regina, I told you, I'm—"

"Emma." The mayor gives her a hard look. "Are you alright? With the way you left here earlier…"

Emma frowns. "Oh, that. I'm okay. A little hurt, I won't lie. I just found out the only person I thought might be something like family to me doesn't trust me." She sighs. "No matter how hard I try, I guess all I'll ever be is ex-con Swan."

Regina's brow furrows. "Ex-con?"

"Shit." Emma sinks into the booth a bit, shrinking before Regina's eyes. "I didn't mean to… Can we just forget I said that?"

Brown eyes scrutinize her for a long time, and Emma can't make herself meet them. "For now, yes."

"Thanks," the blonde sighs. "I'm pretty sure I quit my job earlier."

"Oh," Regina says, raising an eyebrow. "That means you're no longer searching for Mr. Irving?"

"Not professionally, no."

"So… that means you'll be leaving Storybrooke?" Regina sinks her teeth into her lower lip fretfully, and the move draws green eyes in tantalizingly.

"Well, I wouldn't say that. I mean, it would be irresponsible to leave town after stirring up so much trouble." She grins. "I'd say I should probably stay a little while longer to make sure Irving is gone and won't causing any problems for your town, Madame Mayor."

Regina can't stop the corners of her lips pricking upwards. "Well, good. That's probably for the best."

"Emma Swan." They both look up to see August standing at the end of the booth. Regina glares at him. How dare he intrude upon what was obviously a private moment?

Emma looks at him inquisitively. "I never told you my full name."

He nods over to Mary Margaret and Ruby. "Your friends filled me in, and they told me about you as well, Mayor Mills. Could I join you two?"

Regina and Emma speak at the same time.

"No."

"Yes."

They lock eyes in a nonverbal argument while August shifts his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

After several seconds, Emma smiles up at him. "Sit down, August. Let me buy your food. It's the least I can do for helping me out." He sits down across from Emma, and Regina straightens up in the booth, arms crossed and looking remarkably like a pouting child. Emma struggles not to laugh.

"That's not necessary," August assures her. "It was no problem. Not like I was going to leave you out there on your own. How are you feeling by the way?"

"Here you are, Emma." Ruby delivers her order to the table, and green eyes shine.

"Much better now," she answers, immediately diving into her hot cocoa.

"Eat first," Regina commands, sliding the soup towards her. "Then dessert."

Lifting her head, Emma looks at her sheepishly with a whipped cream mustache. "Sorry."

Fighting a losing battle against a smirk, Regina reaches out with another napkin and wipes the cream away. "You're just like Henry." Emma beams at her.

"What the fuck?" Ruby mumbles, gaping at the two. Regina glares at her.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Lucas?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I just…" She turns to August quickly. "Can I get you something?"

"Whatever it is, put on my check, Rubes," Emma says as she stirs her soup. August gives her a sore look. "Shut up. I'm doing it. Order already." She slurps up her soup and chokes out a string of swear words. "Fuck, that's hot!"

"Language," Regina chastises. "This is a public, family-friendly institute, Miss Swan."

"Uh-oh. Back to Miss Swan now? That means I'm in real trouble, doesn't it?"

"Seriously, though, what the actual fuck?" Ruby repeats, softer this time.

August shrugs his shoulders at her. "I'm as confused as you." He orders his food, and Ruby prances off to the kitchen.

"So, Mr. Booth." Regina steeples her fingers and eyes him warily. "What brings you to Storybrooke?"

"I'm a writer. I do a lot of traveling in search of inspiration. Your town is very beautiful, Miss Mills."

"It's Madame Mayor, actually," she rectifies curtly.

From beside her, Emma rolls her eyes at August, and his lips tilt upwards. "Of course, Madame Mayor. My apologies."

"Bad ass motorcycle, by the way," Emma says as she takes a sip of her water. "Unfortunately, I was passed out most of the way here, so I don't remember riding it. But it sounds great. I always wanted to get one, but I was too broke and chicken-shit to follow through."

"Well, maybe I can take you out for a ride some other time," he suggests, and Regina fumes at his brazenness.

"That scrapheap is a death trap," she scowls.

Emma cups a hand over her mouth and looks at August. "She's just jealous." He grins.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling well enough to have a few laughs at my expense." Regina crosses her arms irritably. "And to think I was actually concerned about you."

Smiling, Emma scoots closer to the mayor, who turns her head away from her. "Come on. Don't be mad. I'm just picking. Isn't a girl who's had three near-death experiences in the last week allowed that? I'm sorry. Forgive me." Regina glances over at her, and Emma bats her lashes with a smile. "Please, Regina? I'll be your best friend."

Despite her greatest efforts, Regina's expression cracks with a smile. "You're intolerable."

"Yeah, but I'm also, like, super cute and irresistible."

Regina rolls her eyes at her. "You're quite confident in yourself, aren't you?"

"Yep. Only out of experience, though. So, do I have your forgiveness?" She chews on her lip.

The mayor sighs exhaustively. "Yes, I suppose I forgive you."

"Good." Emma faces forward again and smiles at August before mouthing, "Knew she would" to him. Which, of course, merits her an eye roll and nudge from the brunette.

Mary Margaret joins them shortly, and the four partake in what Emma deems the world's most awkward lunch. She makes small talk with August and Mary Margaret and tries to engage Regina as well, but the mayor refuses to give the other two at the table anything more than a reproachful look or word. Once they're finished, they all walk outside the diner.

"It was nice meeting you, August," Emma says to him. "And seriously, thank you. You saved my ass, and I can't repay you enough for it."

He smiles. "Not looking for any repayment." He moves to his motorcycle. "I'll see you around, alright?"

"Yeah, totally. See you." She turns to Mary Margaret and Regina, who stand at an arm's length apart from each other.

"You ready to go home, Emma?" Mary Margaret asks. "I imagine you're still pretty tired. We could watch some movies and have a girls' night."

The blonde smirks. Mary Margaret seems fixated on the idea of a "girls' night," as it is the third time she's offered it since Emma started staying with her. "I don't know about a girls' night, but I could go for a movie." The schoolteacher brightens with a smile. "You go ahead to the apartment—I'm right behind you." When Mary Margaret gives her a curious look, she glances over to Regina.

"Oh. Oh, of course. I'll see you there." She gives the mayor a stiff nod. "Have a good day, Madame Mayor."

Regina doesn't respond, and Mary Margaret rolls her eyes before walking off. She wonders how the hell Emma seems to enjoy spending so much time with the frigid woman.

"You know, you don't have to stay with her," Regina says. "I could easily get you a room at Granny's free of charge." She clears her throat. "Or I do happen to have several unoccupied guest rooms at my house."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You'd want me staying at your place?"

"I don't know if I'd say want… but I wouldn't be opposed to it."

The blonde smiles at this. She has come to know the mayor well enough to know that an invitation into not only her home but her life is not something that comes often. "Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I really don't mind staying with MM. I like it, actually. She's the fastest friend I've ever made. I don't know why you don't like her, but I think she's pretty cool." Regina sucks at her teeth. Cool? Mary Margaret? She can't imagine. "Hey, I just want to say thank you."

She furrows her brow. "For what, dear?"

"For worrying about me. I know that probably seems like nothing to you, but it's a big deal to me." Emma offers a weak smile. "Not a lot of people have ever cared enough to get concerned, y'know? I appreciate it."

"Well, I'm glad that you do," Regina says. "However, I would appreciate it if you stopped putting yourself into positions where I should be worried."

Emma grins. "I'll try, but trouble has a knack for finding me." She pauses thoughtfully. "So, um, about before when you came to MM's apartment. When I was hopped up on painkillers."

Regina smirks. "You mean, when you kissed me?"

"I kissed your cheek. Technically, you kissed my lips—twice, actually."

"You initiated it, dear."

"Fair enough." Emma rubs the back of her neck, blushing bright red. "If, y'know, that made you uncomfortable in anyway, I want to apologize. That medication makes me crazy—I'd never be so forward normally."

Scarlet lips spread into a wide smile while brown eyes glitter warmly. "Well, in that case I'm very glad you were on them at the time." Emma looks at her uncertainly. "I wasn't uncomfortable then, Emma, and I'm not uncomfortable now. You were very open and honest about your feelings for me. Almost painstakingly so. And it was funny, but it was also refreshing. I don't regret it."

Emma smiles at her. "Good. Neither do I. Well, actually, maybe I do regret one part." Regina frowns, her brow knit. "I mean, I know why I did it, but, looking at you, I really wish I'd slept with you after all." The brunette laughs. "So, remember when I said I'd like to get you back for having me for dinner before? How about I take you and Henry out?"

"Both of us?" Regina's eyebrows lift in surprise.

Emma nods, smiling. "Yeah, both of you. I mean, I already know that you like me." Regina rolls her eyes but smiles. "It's really important to me that he likes me, too, though. And, y'know, if something… serious comes of this, I'd like to explain it to Henry. Make sure he knows that I'm not taking his mother away from him."

Regina snorts. "I don't think he'd care either way. I'm the villain in his eyes."

"Regina." Emma takes her hands gingerly and smiles. "He'd care. He'd care a lot. I just want Henry to know that he's as much a part of this as anyone. I mean, if I'm dating you, I'm kind of dating him, too. Package deal."

"And you'd be alright with that?" The mayor is clearly apprehensive.

Emma grins. "I'd be more than alright with it. He is an amazing little boy, and it'd be an honor to be in either of your lives." Regina smiles. "So, I'll call you tomorrow with the details? Well, um, after I buy a new phone. I kind of trashed mine earlier if you didn't see."

"I saw, dear. What details?"

"Well, yeah. I have to take time to plan it all out. Can't just take you two out for a half-assed date." Green eyes glimmer sweetly. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

Regina nods. "Tomorrow."

"Good." Leaning forward, Emma goes for a kiss before changing her route last minute and pressing her lips to the mayor's forehead.

"The hell was that?" Regina demands.

"Self-control. You're too hot, woman. If I kiss you on the lips, I may not be able to stop."

Regina smiles. "Goodbye, Emma. I'll talk to you soon."

Emma watches her turn for Town Hall with a goofy grin on her face. "Bye, your Majesty."


End file.
